HORATIO 


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The  Young  Outlaw 


(IHLSf-p 


BY 

HORATIO  ALGER,  Jr. 


Author  of  The  Store  Boy,  Bound  to  Rise,  Brave  and  Bold,  Cash 
Boy,  Erie  Train  Boy,  Julius  the  Street  Boy,  Paul 
the  Peddler,  Phil  the  Fiddler,  Etc. 


CHICAGO: 

M.  A.  DONOHUE  & CO, 

407-429  Dearborn  St. 


r 


CONTENTS 


8 IZ 


CHAPTER  PAGE 


I. 

The  Young  Outlaw 

. 

O 

I 

II. 

Sam’s  Early  Life  .... 

0 

IO 

III. 

A Hard  Case  .... 

*9 

IV. 

Sam  Frightens  the  Household  . 

28 

V. 

Sam  Combines  Business  wjth  Pleasure 

37 

VI 

Sam’s  Sudden  Sickness 

46 

VII. 

Sam  Meets  His  Match 

55 

VIII. 

Sam’s  Temptation  .... 

64 

IX. 

Sam  Takes  French  Leave  . 

73 

X. 

Sam’s  Adventures  at  the  Depot 

82 

XT. 

First  Experiences  in  the  City  . 

9i 

XII. 

Clarence  Brown  .... 

100 

XIII. 

Robbed  in  His  Sleep  . 

109 

XIV. 

Bounced  

118 

XV. 

Any  Way  to  Make  a Living 

127 

XVI. 

Sam  Meets  Brown  and  is  Unhappy 

137 

XVII. 

Tim  Brady  

147 

XVIII. 

Sam  Turns  Impostor 

157 

XIX. 

How  Sam  Fared  . 

166 

XX. 

Sam  Gets  into  a New  Business 

176 

iii 


iv  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXI.  Sam  Obtains  a Place 185 

XXII.  The  Young  Doctor 195 

XXI II.  Sam  Falls  into  Bad  Company  . . . 204 

XXIV.  Sam’s  Excuses 214 

XXV  Brought  to  Justice  . 224 

XXVI.  Pipkin’s  Dining  Rooms  . 234 

XXVII.  Conclusion •942 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


CHAPTER  I 

THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 

“ Boy,  is  this  Canal  Street  ? ” 

The  speaker  was  evidently  from  the  country. 
He  was  a tall  man  with  prominent  features,  and 
a face  seamed  and  wrinkled  by  the  passage  of 
nearly  seventy  years.  He  wore  a rusty  cloak, 
in  the  style  of  thirty  years  gone  by,  and  his  cloth- 
ing  generally  was  of  a fashion  seldom  seen  on 
Broadway. 

The  boy  addressed  was  leaning  against  a lamp- 
post,  with  both  hands  in  his  pockets.  His  clothes 
were  soiled  and  ragged,  and  a soft  hat,  which 
looked  as  if  it  had  served  in  its  varied  career  as 
a football,  was  thrust  carelessly  on  his  head.  He 
looked  like  a genuine  representative  of  the  “ street 
Arab,”  with  no  thought  for  to-morrow  and  its 
needs,  and  contented  if  he  could  only  make  sure 


2 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


of  a square  meal  to-day.  His  face  was  dirty, 
and  marked  by  a mingled  expression  of  fun  and 
impudence;  but  the  features  were  not  unpleas- 
ing,  and,  had  he  been  clean  and  neatly  dressed, 
he  would  undoubtedly  have  been  considered  good- 
looking. 

He  turned  quickly  on  being  addressed,  and 
started  perceptibly,  as  his  glance  met  the  inquir- 
ing look  of  the  tall  stranger.  He  seemed  at  first 
disposed  to  run  away,  but  this  intention  was  suc- 
ceeded by  a desire  to  have  some  fun  with  the  old 
man. 

“ Canal  Street’s  about  a mile  off.  I’ll  show 
yer  the  way  for  ten  cents.” 

“ A mile  off?  That’s  strange,”  said  the  old 
man,  puzzled.  “ They  told  me  at  the  Astor 
House  it  was  only  about  ten  minutes’  walk, 
Straight  up.” 

“ That’s  where  you  got  sold,  gov’nor.  Give 
me  ten  cents,  and  you  won’t  have  no  more 
trouble.” 

“ Are  you  sure  you  know  Canal  Street  your- 
self ? ” said  the  old  man,  perplexed.  “ They’d 
ought  to  know  at  the  hotel.” 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW  3 

“ I’d  ought  to  know,  too.  That’s  where  my 
store  is.” 

“Your  store!”  ejaculated  the  old  man,  fixing 
his  eyes  upon  his  ragged  companion,  who  cer- 
tainly looked  very  little  like  a New  York  mer- 
chant. 

“ In  course.  Don’t  I keep  a cigar  store  at  No. 
95!” 

“ I hope  you  don’t  smoke  yourself,”  said  the 
deacon — for  he  was  a deacon — solemnly. 

“ Yes,  I do.  My  constitushun  requires  it.” 

“ My  boy,  you  are  doing  a lasting  injury  to 
your  health,”  said  the  old  man  impressively. 

“ Oh,  I’m  tough.  I kin  stand  it.  Better  give 
me  a dime,  and  let  me  show  yer  the  way.” 

The  deacon  was  in  a hurry  to  get  to  Canal 
Street,  and  after  some  hesitation,  for  he  was  fond 
of  money,  he  drew  out  ten  cents  and  handed  it 
to  his  ragged  companion. 

“ There,  my  boy,  show  me  the  way.  I should 
think  you  might  have  done  it  for  nothing.” 

“ That  ain’t  the  way  we  do  business  in  the  city, 
gov’nor.” 

“Well,  go  ahead;  I’m  in  a hurry.” 


4 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


“ You  needn’t  be,  for  this  is  Canal  Street,” 
said  the  boy,  edging  off  a little. 

“ Then  you’ve  swindled  me,”  said  the  deacon, 
wrathfully.  “ Give  me  back  that  ten  cents.” 

“ Not  if  I know  it,”  said  the  boy  mockingly. 
“ That  ain’t  the  way  we  do  business  in  the  city. 
I’m  goin’  to  buy  two  five-cent  cigars  with  that 
money.” 

“ You  said  you  kept  a cigar  store  yourself,” 
said  the  deacon,  with  sudden  recollection. 

“ You  mustn’t  believe  all  you  hear,  gov’nor,” 
said  the  boy,  laughing  saucily. 

“Well,  now,  if  you  ain’t  a bad  boy,”  said  the 
old  man. 

“ What’s  the  odds  as  long  as  you’re  happy?  ” 
said  the  young  Arab  carelessly. 

Here  was  a good  chance  for  a moral  lesson, 
and  the  deacon  felt  that  it  was  his  duty  to  point 
out  to  the  young  reprobate  the  error  of  his 
ways. 

“ My  young  friend,”  he  said,  “ how  can  you 
expect  to  be  happy  when  you  lie  and  cheat  ? Such 
men  are  never  happy.” 

“Ain’t  they,  though?  You  bet  I’ll  be  happy 


. THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


5 


when  I’m  smokin’  the  two  cigars  I’m  going  to 
buy.” 


“ Keep  the  money,  but  don’t  buy  the  cigars,” 
said  the  deacon,  religion  getting  the  better  of  his 
love  of  money.  “ Buy  yourself  some  clothes. 
You  appear  to  need  them.” 

“ Buy  clo’es  with  ten  cents ! ” repeated  the  boy 
humorously. 

“ At  any  rate,  devote  the  money  to  a“useful 
purpose,  and  I shall  not  mind  being  cheated  out 
of  it.  If  you  keep  on  this  way,  you’ll  end  on  the 


’s  cornin’  it  rather  strong,  gov’nor. 
Hangin’s  played  out  in  New  York.  I guess  I’m 
all  right.” 

“ I’m  afraid  you’re  all  wrong,  my  boy.  You’re 
travelin’  to  destruction.” 

“ Let’s  change  the  subject.”  said  the  street  boy. 
“ You’re  gittin’  personal,  and  I don’t  like  per- 
sonal remarks.  What’ll  you  bet  I can’t  tell  your 
name  ? ” 

“Bet!”  ejaculated  the  deacon,  horrified. 

“ Yes,  gov'nor.  I’ll  bet  you  a quarter  I kin. 
tell  your  name.” 


6 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


“ I never  bet.  It’s  wicked,”  said  the  old  man, 
with  emphasis. 

“Well,  we  won’t  bet,  then,”  said  the  boy. 
“ Only  if  I tell  your  name  right,  you  give  me  ten 
cents.  If  I don’t  get  it  right,  I’ll  give  back  this 
dime  you  gave  me.  Ain’t  that  fair?  ” 

The  deacon  might  have  been  led  to  suspect  that 
there  was  not  much  difference  between  the  boy's 
proposal  and  the  iniquity  of  a bet,  but  his  mind 
was  rather  possessed  by  the  thought  that  here 
was  a good  chance  to  recover  the  money  out  of 
which  he  had  been  so  adroitly  cheated.  Surely 
there  was  no  wrong  in  recovering  that,  as  of 
course  he  would  do,  for  how  could  a ragged  street 
boy  tell  the  name  of  one  who  lived  a hundred 
and  fifty  miles  distant,  in  a small  country  town? 
“ I’ll  do  it,”  said  the  deacon. 

“ You’ll  give  me  ten  cents  if  I tell  your  name?  ” 
“ Yes,  and  you’ll  give  me  back  the  money  I 
gave  you  if  you  can’t  tell.” 

“ That’s  it,  gov’nor.” 

“Then,  what’s  my  name,  boy?”  and  the  dea- 
con extended  his  hand  in  readiness  to  receive  the 
forfeit  of  a wrong  answer. 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


7 


“ Deacon  John  Hopkins/’  answered  the  boy 
confidently. 

The  effect  on  the  old  man  was  startling.  He 
was  never  more  surprised  in  his  life.  He  stared 
at  the  boy  open-mouthed,  in  bewilderment  and 
wonder. 

“Well,  I declare!”  he  ejaculated.  “I  never 
heard  of  such  a thing.” 


( “Ain’t  I right,  gov’nor?” 

“ Yes,  my  boy,  you’re  right;  but  how  on  earth 
did  you  find  out  ? ” 

“ Give  me  the  money,  and  I’ll  tell  you,”  and 
the  boy  extended  his  hand. 

The  deacon  drew  the  money  from  his  vest 
pocket,  and  handed  it  to  the  young  Arab  without 
remonstrance. 

“ Now,  tell  me,  my  boy,  how  you  know’d  me.” 

The  boy  edged  off  a few  feet,  then  lifted  his 
venerable  hat  so  as  to  display  the  whole  of  his 
face. 

“ I’d  ought  to  know  you,  deacon,”  he  said; 
“ I’m  Sam  Barker.” 

“ By  gracious,  if  it  ain’t  Sam!  ” ejaculated  the 
old  man.  “ Hello ! stop,  I say ! ” 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


But  Sam  was  halfway  across  the  street.  The 
deacon  hesitated  an  instant,  and  then  dashed  after 
him,  his  long  cloak  floating  in  the  wind,  and  his 
hat  unconsciously  pushed  back  on  the  top  of  his 
head. 

“ Stop,  you  Sam ! ” he  shouted. 

But  Sam,  with  his  head  over  his  shoulder,  al- 
ready three  rods  in  advance,  grinned  provokingly, 
but  appeared  to  have  no  intention  of  stopping. 
The  deacon  was  not  used  to  running,  nor  did  he 
make  due  allowance  for  the  difficulty  of  navigat- 
ing the  crowded  streets  of  the  metropolis.  He 
dashed  headlong  into  an  apple  stand,  and  suffered 
disastrous  shipwreck.  The  apple  stand  was  over- 
turned, the  deacon’s  hat  flew  off,  and  he  found  ; 
himself  sprawling  on  the  sidewalk,  with  apples 
rolling  in  all  directions  around  him,  the  angry 
dame  showering  maledictions  upon  him,  and  de- 
manding compensation  for  damages. 

The  deacon  picked  himself  up,  bruised  and 
ashamed,  recovered  his  hat,  which  had  rolled  into 
a mud  puddle,  and  was  forced  to  pay  the  woman 
a dollar  before  he  could  get  away.  When  this 
matter  was  settled,  he  looked  for  Sam,  but  the 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


9 


boy  was  out  of  sight.  In  fact,  he  was  just 
around  the  corner,  laughing  as  if  he  would  split. 
He  had  seen  his  pursuer’s  discomfiture,  and  re* 
garded  it  as  a huge  practical  joke. 

“ I never  had  such  fun  in  all  my  life,”  he  ejacu* 
lated  with  difficulty,  and  he  went  off  into  a fresh 
convulsion.  “ The  old  fellow  won’t  forget  me  in 
a hurry.” 


CHAPTER  II 


SAM'S  EARLY  LIFE 

Three  years  before  the  meeting  described  m 
the  previous  chapter,  Sam  Barker  became  an 
orphan,  by  the  death  of  his  father.  The  father 
was  an  intemperate  man,  and  no  one  grieved 
much  for  his  death.  Sam  felt  rather  relieved 
than  otherwise.  He  had  received  many  a beat- 
ing from  his  father,  in  his  fits  of  drunken  fury, 
and  had  been  obliged  to  forage  for  himself  for 
the  most  part,  getting  a meal  from  one  neighbor, 
a basket  of  provisions  from  another,  and  so  man- 
aged to  eke  out  a precarious  subsistence  in  the 
tumble-down  shanty  which  he  and  his"  father 
occupied. 

Mr.  Barker  left  no  will,  for  the  good  and  suffi- 
cient reason  that  he  had  no  property  to  dispose 
of.  So,  on  the  day  after  the  funeral,  Sam  found 
himself  a candidate  for  the  poorhouse.  He  was 
a stout  boy  of  twelve,  strong  and  sturdy  in  spite 

ic 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


1 1 


of  insufficient  food,  and  certainly  had  suffered 
nothing  from  luxurious  living. 

It  was  in  a country  town  in  Connecticut,  near 
the  Rhode  Island  border.  We  will  call  it  Dudley. 
The  selectmen  deliberated  on  what  should  be  done 
with  Sam. 

“ There  isn’t  much  for  a lad  like  him  to  do  at 
, the  poorhouse,”  said  Major-  Stebbins.  “ He 
^ ought  to  be  set  at  work.  Why  don’t  you  take 
him.  Deacon  Hopkins?” 

“ I do  need  a boy,”  said  the  deacon,  “ but  I’m 
most  afeard  to  take  Sam.  He’s  a dreadful  mis- 
chievous boy,  I’ve  heercl.” 

^ “ He’s  had  a bad  example  in  his  father,”  said 

the  major.  “You  could  train  him  up  the  way 
he  ought  to  go.” 

; “ Mebbe  I could,”  said  the  deacon,  flattered 

[ by  this  tribute,  and  reflecting,  moreover,  that  he 
could  get  a good  deal  of  work  out  of  Sam  with- 
out being  obliged  to  pay  him  wages. 

“ You  could  train  him  up  to  be  a respectable 
man,”  said  the  major.  “They  wouldn’t  know 
' what  to  do  with  a boy  like  him  at  the  poor- 


12 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


So  the  deacon  was  prevailed  upon  to  take  Sam 
to  bring  up. 

“ You’re  goin’  to  live  with  me,  Samuel,”  said 
the  deacon,  calling  the' boy  to  his  side. 

“ Am  I ? ” asked  Sam,  surveying  the  old  man 
attentively. 

“ Yes;  I shall  try  to  make  a man  of  you.”  ! 

“ I’ll  get  to  be  a man  anyway,  if  I live  long  J 
enough,”  said  Sam.  I 

“ I mean  I will  make  a man  of  you  in  a moral 
sense,”  explained  the  deacon. 

This,  however,  was  above  Sam’s  comprehend 
sion.  | 

“ What  would  you  like  to  do  when  you’re  a* 
maE?  ” asked  the  deacon. 

“ Smoke  a pipe,”  answered  Sam,  after  some 
reflection. 

The  deacon  held  up  his  hands  in  horror.  ' 

“ What  a misguided  youth ! ” he  exclaimed. 

“ Can  you  think  of  nothing  better  than  to  smoke 

a pipe  ? ” 

“Dad  liked  it,”  said  Sam;  “but  I guess  he 
liked  rum  better.” 

“ Your  father  was  a misguided  man,”  said  the 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW  13 

deacon.  “ He  wasted  his  substance  in  riotous 
living.” 

“ You  ought  to  have  seen  him  when  he  was 
tight,”  said'  Sam  confidentially.  “ Didn’t  he  tear 
raund  then?  He’d  fling  sticks  of  wood  at  my 
head.  Oh,  jolly!  Didn’t  I run?  I used  to  hide 
rnder  the  bed  when  I couldn’t  run  out  of  doors.” 

»“  Your  father’s  dead  and  gone.  I don’t  want 
talk  against  him,  but  I hope  you’ll  grow  up  a 
/ery  different  man.  Do  you  think  you  will  like 
lo  live  with  me  ? ” 

“ I gues'"  so,”  said  Sam.  “ You  live  in  a good 
house,  where  the  rain  don’t  leak  through  the  roof 
bn  your  head.  You’ll  give  me  lots  to  eat,  too, 
[won’t  you  ? ” 

[ “ You  shall  have  enough,”  said  the  deacon  cau- 

Uously;  “ but  it  is  bad  to  over-eat.  Boys  ought 
l>  be  moderate.” 

“ I didn’t  over-eat  to  home,”  said  Sam.  “ I 
lent  one  day  without  eatin’  a crumb.” 

“ You  shall  have  enough  to  eat  at  my  house, 
ut  you  must  render  a return.” 

“ What’s  that?” 


“ You  must  pay  for  it.” 


14 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


“ I can’t;  I ain’t  got  a cent.”  [ 

“ You  shall  pay  me  in  work.  He  that  dof“S 
not  work  shall  not  eat.”  \ 

“ Have  I got  to  work  very  hard  ? ” asked  San!1 
anxiously.  ' 

“ I will  not  task  you  beyond  your  strengths 
but  I shall  expect  you  to  work  faithfully.  I worlj 
myself.  Everybody  works  in  my  house.” 

Sam  was  occupied  for  a brief  space  in  considerl 
ing  the  great  problem  that  connects  labor  and  eat-] 
ing.  Somehow  it  didn’t  seem  quite  satisfactory.] 
“I  wish  1 was.  a pig!”  he  burst  out,  rather] 
unexpectedly. 

“Why?”  demanded  the  deacon,  amazed. 

“ Pigs  have  a better  time  than  men  and  boys.] 
They  have  all  they  can  eat,  and  don’t  have  to  work] 
for  it,  nuther.” 

“ I’m  surprised  at  you,”  said  the  deacor 
shocked.  “ Pigs  are  only  brute  animals.  The} 
have  no  souls.  Would  you  be  willing  to  give  uj 
your  immortal  soul  for  the  sake  of  bein’  idle,  anc 
doin’  no  work  ? ” 

“ I don’t  know  anything  about  my  immortal 
soul.  ’ What  good  does  it  do  me  ? ” inquired  Sam. 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


15 


“ I declare ! the  boy’s  actilly  gropin’  in  heathen 
darkness,”  said  the  deacon,  beginning  to  think  he 
had  undertaken  a tough  job. 

“ What’s  that  ? ” asked  Sam,  mystified. 

“ I haven’t  time  to  tell  you  now,  but  I must 
have  a long  talk  with  you  some  dav.  You  ain’t 
ad  no  sort  of  bringing  up.  Do  you  ever  read 
the  Bible?  ” 

“ No,  but  I’ve  read  the  life  of  Captain  Kidd. 
He  was  a smart  man,  though.” 

“ Captain  Kidd,  the  pirate?  ” asked  the  deacon, 
horrified. 

“ Yes,  wa’n’t  he  a great  man  ? ” 

“ He  calls  a pirate  a great  man ! ” groaned  the 
deacon.  « 

“ I think  I’d  like  to  be  a pirate,”  said  Sam  ad- 
miringly. 

“ Then  you’d  die  on  the  gallus ! ” exclaimed  the 
deacon  with  energy. 

“ No,  I wouldn’t.  I wouldn’t  let  ’em  catch 
me,”  said  Sam  confidently. 

“ I never  heerd  a boy  talk  so,”  said  the  deacon. 
“ He’s  as  bad  as  a — -a  Hottentot.” 

Deacon  Hopkins  had  no  very  clear  idea  as  to 


16  THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 

the  moral  or  physical  condition  of  Hottentots,  or 
where  they  lived,  but  had  a general  notion  that 
they  were  in  a benighted  state,  and  the  compari- 
son seemed  to  him  a good  one.  Not  so  to  Sam. 

“ You’re  calling  me  names,”  he  said  discon- 
tentedly. “ You  called  me  a Hottentot.” 

“ I fear  you  are  very  much  like  those  poor, 
benighted  creatures,  Samuel,”  said  his  new  guard- 
ian; “ but  it  isn’t  wholly  your  fault.  You  hav  j 
never  had  any  religious  or  moral  instruction. 
This  must  be  rectified.  I shall  buy  you  a cate- 
chism this  very  day.” 

“ Will  you?  ” asked  Sam  eagerly,  who,  it  must 
be  explained,  had  an  idea  that  a catechism  was 
something  good  to  eat. 

“ Yes,  I’ll  stop  at  the  store  and  get  one.” 

They  went  into  Pendleton’s  store — a general 
country  variety  store,  in  which  the  most  dissimilar 
articles  were  kept  for  sale.  j 

“ Have  you  got  a catechism  ? ” asked  tlue 
deacon,  entering  with  Sam  at  his  side. 

“ We’ve  got  just  one  left?  ” 

“How  much  is  it?” 

“ Ten  cents.” 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


i7 


“ Til  take  it.” 

Sam  looked  on  with  interest  till  the  clerk  pro- 
duced the  article;  then  his  countenance  under- 
went a change. 

“ Why,  it’s  a book,”  he  said. 

“ Of  course  it  is.  It  is  a very  good  book,  from 
which  you  will  learn  all  about  your  duty,  and 
your  religious  obligations.” 

“ You  needn’t  buy  it.  I don’t  want  it,”  said 
Sam.  » 

“ Don’t  want  the  catechism ! ” said  the  deacon, 
not  without  anger. 

“ No,  it  ain’t  any  good.” 

“'My  boy,  I know  better  what  is  good  for  you 
than  you  do.  I shall  buy  you  the  catechism.” 

“ I’d  rather  you’d  get  me  that  book,”  said  Sam, 
pointing  to  a thin  pamphlet  copy  of  “ Jack,  the 
Giant-Killer.” 

But  Deacon  Hopkins  persisted  in  making  the 
purchase  proposed. 

“ Are  there  any  pictures  in  it?  ” asked  Sam. 

“ No.” 

“ Then  I shan’t  like  it.” 

“ You  don’t  know  what  is  for  your  good.  I 


18 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


hope  you  will  be  wiser  in  time.  But  here  we  are 
at  the  house.  Come  right  in,  and  mind  you  wipe 
your  feet.” 

This  was  Sam’s  first  introduction  into  the  Hop- 
kins household.  He  proved  a disturbing  element, 
as  we  shall  presently  see. 


CHAPTER  III 


A HARD  CASE 

The  first  meal  to  which  Sam  sat  down  at  the 
deacon’s  house  was  supper.  It  was  only  a plain 
supper — tea,  bread  and  butter,  and  apple  pie — 
but  to  Sam,  who  was  not  used  tQ  regular  meals 
of  any  kind,  it  seemed  luxurious.  He  dispatched 
slice  after  slice  of  bread,  eating  twice  as  much 
as  anyone  else  at  the  table,  and  after  eating  his 
share  of  the  pie  gazed  hungrily  at  the  single  slice 
which  remained  on  the  plate,  and  asked  for  that 
also. 

Deacon  Hopkins  thought  it  was  time  to  inter- 
fere. 

“ You’ve  had  one  piece  a’ready,”  he  said. 

“ I know  it,”  said  Sam;  “but  I’m  hungry.” 

“ I don’t  see  how  you  can  be.  You’ve  eat  more 
'than  any  of  us.” 

“ It  takes  a good  deal  to  fill  me  up,”  said  Sam 
frankly. 


19 


20 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


“ The  boy  ’ll  eat  us  out  of  house  and  home,” 
said  Mrs.  Hopkins  in  alarm.  “ You  can’t  have 
any  more.  You’ve  had  enough.” 

Sam  withdrew  his  plate.  He  did  not  look 
abashed,  for  he  /as  never  much  inclined  that  way, 
nor  did  his  feelings  appear  to  be  hurt,  for  he  was 
not  sensitive;  but  he  took  the  matter  coolly,  and, 
pushing  back  his  chair  from  the  table,  was  about 
to  leave  the  room. 

“ Where  are  you  a-goin’  ? ” asked  his  new 
guardian. 

“ Outdoors.” 

“ Stop.  I’ve  got  something  for  you  to  do.” 

The  deacon  went  to  the  mantel-piece  and  took 
therefrom  the  catechism. 

“ You  ain’t  had  no  bringing  up,  Samuel,”  he 
said.  “ You  don’t  know  nothin’  about  your 
moral  and  religious  obligations.  It’s  my  dooty 
to  make  you  learn  how  to  walk  uprightly.” 

“ I can  walk  straight  now,”  said  Sam. 

“ I don’t  mean  that — I mean  in  a moral  sense. 
Come  here.” 

Sam  unwillingly  drew  near  the  deacon. 

“ Here,  I want  you  to  study  the  first  page  of 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


21 


the  catechism,  and  recite  it  to  me  before  you  go  to 
bed.” 

Sam  took  the  book,  and  looked  at  the  first  page 
doubtfully. 

“ What’s  the  good  of  it  ? ” he  demanded  in  a 
discontented  voice. 

“What’s  the  good  of  the  catechism?”  ex- 
claimed the  deacon,  shocked.  “ It’ll  l’arn  you 
your  duties.  It'll  benefit  your  immortal  soul.” 

“ I don’t  care  if  it  will,”  said  Sam  perversely. 
u What  do  I care  about  my  soul  ? It  never  did 
me  no  good.” 

“ Did  you  ever  see  such  a heathen,  Martha?  ” 
said  the  deacon,  in  despair,  turning  to  his  wife. 

“ You’ll  be  sorry  you  ever  took  him  in,”  said 
Mrs.  Hopkins,  shaking  her  head. 

“ Set  down  in  the  corner,  and  l’arn  your  les- 
son, Samuel,”  said  the  old  man. 

Sam  looked  undecided  whether  to  obey  or  not, 
but,  under  the  circumstances,  he  thought  it  best 
to  obey.  He  began  to  read  the  catechism,  but  it 
did  not  interest  him.  His  eyes  were  not  long 
fixed  on  the  printed  page.  They  roved  about 
the  room,  following  the  movements  of  Mrs.  Hop- 


22 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


kins  as  she  cleared  off  the  table.  He  saw  her  take 
the  pie  and  place  it  in  the  closet.  His  eyes  glis- 
tened as  he  caught  sight  of  an  entire  pie  on  the 
lower  shelf,  designed,  doubtless,  for  the  next  day’s 
supper. 

“I  wish  I had  it,”  he  thought  to  himself; 
“wouldn’t  it  be  jolly?” 

Pretty  soon  the  deacon  took  his  hat  and  cane 
and  went  out.  Then  Mrs.  Hopkins  went  into 
the  next  room,  and  Sam  was  left  alone.  There 
was  a fine  chance  to  escape,  and  Sam  was  not 
slow  in  availing  himself  of  it.  He  dropped  the 
catechism  on  the  floor,  seized  his  hat,  and  darted 
out  of  the  room,  finding  his  way  out  of  the  house 
through  the  front  door.  He  heaved  a sigh  of 
relief  as  he  found  himself  in  the  open  air.  Catch- 
ing sight  of  the  deacon  in  a field  to  the  right,  he 
jumped  over  a stone  wall  to  the  left,'  and 
made  for  a piece  of  woods  a short  distance 
away. 

It  was  not  Sam’s  intention  to  run  away.  He 
felt  that  it  would  be  foolish  to  leave  a home  where 
he  got  such  good' suppers,  but  he  wanted  a couple 
of  hours  of  freedom.  He  did  not  mean  to  return 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


23 

till  it  was  too  late  to  study  the  catechism  any 
longer. 

“ What’s  the  use  of  wearin’  out  a feller’s  eyes 
over  such  stuff  ? ” he  thought. 

It  is  not  necessary  to  follow  Sam’s  movements 
through  the  evening.  At  nine  o’clock  he  opened 
the  front  door,  and  went  in,  not  exactly  abashed, 
but  uncertain  how  the  deacon  would  receive  him. 

Deacon  Hopkins  had  his  steel-bowed  spectacles 
on,  and  was  engaged  in  reading  a good  book. 
He  looked  up  sternly  as  Sam  entered. 

“ Samuel,  where  have  you  been  ? ” he  asked. 

“ Out  in  the  woods,”  said  Sam  coolly. 

“ Didn’t  I tell  you  to  get  your  catechism  ? ” de- 
manded the  old  man  sternly. 

“ So  I did,”  said  Sam,  without  blushing. 

“ I am  afraid  you  are  telling  me  a lie.  Mrs. 
Hopkins  said  she  went  out  of  the  room  a minute, 
and  when  she  came  back  you  were  gone.  Is  that 
so?” 

“ Yes,  I guess  so,”  said  Sam. 

“ Then  how  did  you  have  time  to  l’arn  your 
lesson  ? ” 


“ It  wasn’t  long,”  muttered  Sam. 


24 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


“ Come  here,  and  I will  see  if  you  know  any- 
thing about  it.” 

The  deacon  took  the  book,  laid  it  flat  on  his 
lap,  and  read  out  the  first  question,  looking  in- 
quiringly at  Sam  for  the  answer. 

Sam  hesitated  and  scratched  his  head.  “ I 
give  it  up,”  said  he. 

“ Do  you  think  I’m  askin’  conundrums?  ” said 
the  deacon  sternly. 

“ No,”  said  Sam  honestly. 

“ Why  don’t  you  know  ? ” 

“ Because  I can’t  tell.” 

“ Because  you  didn’t  study  it.  Ain’t  you 
ashamed  of  your  ignorance?” 

“ What’s  the  use  of  knowin’  ? ” 

“ It  is  very  important,”  said  the  deacon  impres- 
sively. “ Now,  I will  ask  you  the  next  question.” 

Sam  broke  down  and  confessed  that  he  didn’t 
know. 

“ Then  you  told  me  a lie.  You  said  you 
studied  the  lesson.” 

“ I didn’t  understand  it.” 

“ Then  you  should  have  studied  longer.  Don’t 
you  know  it  is  wicked  to  lie  ? ” 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


25 


“A  feller  can’t  tell  the  truth  all  the  time,” 
said  Sam,  as  if  he  were  stating  a well  known 
fact. 

“ Certainly  he  can,”  said  the  deacon.  “ I al- 
ways do.” 

“Do  you?”  inquired  Sam,  regarding  the  old 
man  with  curiosity. 

“ Of  course.  It  is  everyone’s  duty  to  tell  the 
truth.  You  ought  to  die  rather  than  tell  a lie. 
I have  read  of  a man  who  was  threatened  with 
death.  He  might  have  got  off  if  he  had  told  a 
lie.  But  he  wouldn’t.” 

“ Did  he  get  killed?  ” asked  Sam,  with  interest. 

“ Yes.” 

“ Then  he  must  have  been  a great  fool,”  said 
Sam  contemptuously.  “ You  wouldn’t  catch  me 
makin’  such  a fool  of  myself.” 

“ He  was  a noble  man,”  said  the  deacon  in- 
dignantly. “ He  laid  down  his  life  for  the 
truth.” 

“ What  good  did  it  do  ? ” said  Sam. 

“.I  am  afraid,  Samuel,  you  are  in  a very  be- 
nighted condition.  You  appear  to  have  no  con- 
ceptions of  duty.” 


26 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


“ I guess  I haven’t,”  said  Sam.  “ I dunno 
what  they  are.” 

“ It  is  all  the  more  necessary  that  you  should 
study  your  catechism.  I shall  expect  you  to  get 
the  same  lesson  to-morrow  evenin’.  It’s  too  late 
to  study  now.” 

“ So  it  is,”  said  Sam  with  alacrity. 

“ I will  show  you  where  you  are  to  sleep.  You 
must  get  up  early  to  go  to  work.  I will  come 
and  wake  you  up.” 

Sam  was  not  overjoyed  at  this  announcement. 
It  did  not  strike  him  that  he  should  enjoy  going 
to  work  early  in  the  morning.  However,  he  felt 
instinctively  that  it  would  do  no  good  to  argue 
the  matter  at  present,  and  he  followed  the  deacon 
upstairs  in  silence.  He  was  ushered  into  a small 
room  partitioned  off  from  the  attic. 

“ You’ll  sleep  there,”  said  the  deacon,  pointing 
to  a cot  bed  in  the  corner.  “ I’ll  call  you  at  five 
o’clock  to-morrow  mornin’.” 

Sam  undressed  himself  and  got  into  bed  at 
once. 

“ This  is  jolly,”  thought  he;  “a  good  deal  bet- 
ter than  at  home.  If  it  warn’t  for  that  plaguy 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW  27 

catechism  I’d  like  livin’  here  fust-rate.  I wish 
I had  another  piece  of  that  pie.” 

In  ten  minutes  Sam  was  fast  asleep;  but  the 
deacon  was  not  so  fortunate.  He  lay  awake  a 
longtime,  pondering  in  perplexity  what  he  should 
do  to  reform  the  young  outlaw  of  whom  he  had 
taken  charge. 

“ He's  a cur’us  boy,”  thought  the  good  man. 
“ Seems  to  have  no  more  notion  of  religion  than 
a Choctaw  or  a Hottentot.  An'  yet  he’s  been 
livin’  in  a Christian  community  all  his  life.  I’m 
afeerd  he  takes  after  his  father.” 


CHAPTER  IV 


SAM  FRIGHTENS  THE  HOUSEHOLD 

Sam  usually  slept  the  whole  night  through; 
but  to-night  was  an  exception.  It  might  have 
been  because  he  was  in  a strange  bed,  and  in  a 
strange  house.  At  any  rate,  he  woke  in  time  to 
hear  the  clock  on  the  church,  of  which  his  guard- 
ian was  deacon,  strike  two. 

“ Where  am  I ? ” was  his  first  thought. 

He  remembered  almost  immediately,  and  the 
thought  made  him  wide  awake.  He  ought  not 
to  have  been  hungry  at  that  hour,  and,  in  fact, 
he  was  not,  but  the  thought  of  the  pie  forced  itself 
upon  his  mind,  and  he  felt  a longing  for  the  slice 
that  was  left  over  from  supper.  Quick  upon  this 
thought  came  another : “ Why  couldn’t  he  creep 
downstairs,  softly,  and  get  it?  The  deacon  and 
his  wife  were  fast  asleep.  Who  would  find  him 
out?” 

A boy  better  brought  up  than  Sam  might  have 
28 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


29 


reflected  that  it  was  wrong;  but,  as  the  deacon 
said,  Sam  had  no  “ conceptions  of  duty,”  or, 
more  properly,  his  conscience  was  not  very  active. 
He  got  out  of  bed,  slipped  on  his  stockings,  and 
crept  softly  downstairs,  feeling  his  way.  It  was 
very  dark,  for  the  entries  were  unlighted,  but 
finally  he  reached  the  kitchen  without  creating 
any  alarm. 

Now  for  the  closet.  It  was  not  locked,  and 
Sam  opened  the  door  without  difficulty. 

“ I wish  I had  a match,  so’s  to  see  where  the 
pie  is,”  he  thought. 

He  felt  around,  but  the  pie  must  have  been 
placed  elsewhere,  for  he  could  not  find  it.  It  had 
really  been  placed  on  the  highest  shelf,  which 
Sam  had  not  as  yet  explored.  But  there  was 
danger  in  feeling  around  in  the  dark.  Our  hero 
managed  to  dislodge  a pile  of  plates,  which  fell 
with  a crash  upon  his  feet.  There  was  a loud 
crash  of  broken  crockery,  and  the  noise  was  in- 
creased by  the  howls  of  Sam,  who  danced  up  and 
down  with  pain. 

The  noise  reached  the  chamber  where  the  dea- 
con and  his  wife  were  calmly  reposing.  Mrs 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


30 

Hopkins  was  a light  sleeper,  and  was  awakened 
at  once. 

She  was  startled  and  terrified,  and,  sitting  up 
in  bed,  shook  her  husband  violently  by  the 
shoulder. 

“ Deacon — Deacon  Hopkins ! ” she  exclaimed. 

“What’s  the  matter?”  asked  the  deacon 
drowsily. 

“ Matter  enough ! There’s  robbers  down- 
stairs! ” 

Now  the  deacon  was  wide  awake. 

“Robbers!”  he  exclaimed.  “Pooh.  Non- 
sense! You’re  dreamin’,  wife.” 

Just  then  there  was  another  racket.  Sam,  in 
trying  to  effect  his  escape,  tumbled  over  a chair,  • 
and  there  was  a yell  of  pain. 

“ Am  I dreaming  now,  deacon  ? ” demanded  his 
wife  triumphantly. 

“ You’re  right,  wife,”  said  the  deacon,  turn- 
ing pale,  and  trembling.  “ It’s  an  awful  situa- 
tion. What  shall  we  do  ? ” 

“ Do  ? Go  downstairs,  and  confront  the  vil- 
lains ! ” returned  his  wife  energetically. 

“ They  might  shoot  me,”  said  her  husband. 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW  31 

panic-stricken.  “ They’re — they’re  said  to  be 
very  desperate  fellows.” 

“ Are  you  a man,  and  won’t  defend  your  prop- 
erty, ” exclaimed  his  wife,  taunting  him.  “ Do 
you  want  me  to  go  down  ? ” 

“ Perhaps  you’d  better,”  said  the  deacon,  ac- 
cepting the  suggestion  with  alacrity. 

“ What ! ” shrieked  Mrs.  Hopkins.  “ You  are 
willing  they  should  shoot  me  ? ” 

“ They  won’t  shoot  a woman,”  said  the  deacon. 
But  his  wife  was  not  appeased. 

Just  then  the  unlucky  Sam  trod  on  the  tail  of 
the  cat,  who  was  quietly  sleeping  on  the  hearth. 
With  the  instinct  of  self-defense,  she  scratched 
his  leg,  which  was  undefended  by  the  customary 
clothing,  and  our  hero,  who  did  not  feel  at  all 
heroic  in  the  dark,  not  knowing  what  had  got 
hold  of  him,  roared  with  pain  and  fright. 

“This  is  terrible!”  gasped  the  deacon. 
“ Martha,  is  the  door  locked  ? ” 

“ No.” 

“ Then  I’ll  get  up  and  lock  it.  Oh,  Lord,  what 
will  become  of  us?  ” 

Sam  was  now  ascending  the  stairs,  and,  though 


32 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


he  tried  to  walk  softly,  the  stairs  creaked  beneath 
his  weight. 

“ They’re  cornin’  upstairs,”  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Hopkins.  “ Lock  the  door  quick,  deacon,  or  we 
shall  be  murdered  in  our  bed.” 

The  deacon  reached  the  door  in  less  time  than 
he  would  have  accomplished  the  same  feat  in  the 
daytime,  and  hurriedly  locked  it." 

“ It’s  locked,  Martha,”  he  said,  “ but  they  may 
break  it  down.” 

“ Or  fire  through  the  door ” 

“ Let’s  hide  under  the  bed,”  suggested  the 
heroic  deacon. 

“ Don’t  speak  so  loud.  They’ll  hear.  I wish 
it  was  mornin’.” 

The  deacon  stood  at  the  door  listening,  and 
made  a discovery. 

“ They’re  going  up  into  the  garret,”  he  an- 
nounced. “ That’s  strange — — ” 

“ What  do  they  want  up  there,  I wonder?  ” 

“ They  can’t  think  we’ve  got  anything  valuable 
up  there.” 

“ Deacon,”  burst  out  Mrs.  Hopkins,  with  a 
sudden  idea,  “ I believe  we’ve  been  fooled.” 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


33 


“ Fooled ! What  do  you  mean  ? ” 

“ I believe  it  isn’t  robbers.” 

“ Not  robbers  ? Why,  you  told  me  it  was,” 
said  her  husband,  bewildered. 

“ I believe  it’s  that  boy ! ” 

“What— Sam?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ What  would  he  want  downstairs  ? ” 

“ I don’t  know,  but  it’s  him,  I’ll  be  bound. 
Light  the  lamp,  deacon,  and  go  up  and  see.” 

“ But  it  might  be  robbers,”  objected  the  deacon, 
in  alarm.  “ They  might  get  hold  of  me,  and  kill 
me.” 

“ I didn’t  think  you  were  such  a coward,  Mr. 
Hopkins,”  said  his  wife  contemptuously.  When 
she  indulged  in  severe  sarcasm,  she  was  accus- 
tomed to  omit  her  husband’s  title. 

“ I ain’t  no  coward,  but  I don’t  want  to  risk 
my  life.  It’s  clear  flyin’  in  the  face  of  Provi- 
dence. You’d  ought  to  see  that  it  is,  Marina,” 
said  the  deacon  reproachfully. 

“ I don’t  see  it.  I see  that  you  are  frightened, 
that’s  what  I see.  Light  the  lamp,  and  I’ll  go 
up  myself.” 


34  THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 

“Well,  Martha,  it’s  better  for  you  to  go. 
They  won’t  touch  a woman.” 

He  lighted  the  lamp,  and  his  wife  departed  on 
her  errand.  It  might  have  been  an  unconscious 
action  on  the  part  of  the  deacon,  but  he  locked 
the  door  after  his  wife. 

Mrs.  Hopkins  proceeded  to  the  door  of  Sam’s 
bed-chamber,  and,  as  the  door  was  unfastened, 
she  entered.  Of  course,  he  was  still  awake,  but 
he  pretended  to  be  asleep. 

“ Sam ! ” said  Mrs.  Hopkins. 

There  was  a counterfeited  snore. 

“ Sam — say ! ” 

Sam  took  no  notice. 

The  lady  took  him  by  the  shoulder,  and  shook 
him  with  no  gentle  hand,  so  that  our  hero  was 
compelled  to  rouse  himself. 

“What’s  up?”  he  asked,  rubbing  his  eyes  in 
apparent  surprise. 

“ I am,”  said  Mrs.  Hopkins  shortly,  “ and  you 
have  been.” 

“ I ! ” protested  Sam  innocently.  “ Why,  I 
was  sound  asleep  when  you  came  in.  I don’t 
know  what’s  been  goin’  on.  Time  to  get  up?” 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


35 

“ What  have  you  been  doing  downstairs  ? ” de- 
manded Mrs.  Hopkins  sternly. 

“ Who  says  I’ve  been  downstairs  ? ” asked 
Sam. 

“ I’m  sure  you  have.  I heard  you.” 

“ It  must  have  been  somebody  else.” 

“ There  is  no  one  else  to  go  down.  Neither 
the  deacon  nor  myself  have  been  down.” 

“ Likely  it’s  thieves.” 

But  Mrs.  Hopkins  felt  convinced,  from  Sam’s 
manner,  that  he  was  the  offender,  and  she  deter- 
mined to  make  him  confess  it. 

“ Get  up,”  she  said,  “ and  go  down  with  me.” 

“ I’m  sleepy,”  objected  Sam. 

“ So  am  I,  but  I mean  to  find  out  all  about  this 
matter.” 

Sam  jumped  out  of  bed,  and  unwillingly  ac- 
companied Mrs.  Hopkins  downstairs.  The  latter 
stopped  at  her  chamber  door  and  tried  to  open  it. 

“ Who’s  there  ? ” asked  the  deacon  tremulously. 

“ I am,”  said  his  wife  emphatically.  “ So  you 
locked  the  door  on  your  wife,  did  you,  because 
you  thought  there  was  danger.  It  does  you 
great  credit,  upon  my  word.” 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


*6 

“ What  have  you  found  out  ? ’’asked  her  hug- 
band,  evading  the  reproach.  “ Was  it  Sam  that 
made  all  the  noise  ? ” 

“ How  could  I,”  said  Sam,  “ when  I was  fast 
asleep?  ” 

“ I’m  goin’  to  take  him  down  with  me  to  see 
what  mischief’s  done,”  said  Mrs.  Hopkins.  “ Do 
you  want  to  go,  too  ? ” 

The  deacon,  after  a little  hesitation,  followed 
his  more  courageous  spouse — at  a safe  distance, 
however — and  the  three  entered  the  ^kitchen, 
which  had  been  the  scene  of  Sam’s  noisy  exploits. 
It  showed  traces  of  his  presence  in  an  overturned 
chair.  Moreover,  the  closet  door  was  wide  open, 
and  broken  pieces  of  crockery  were  scattered  over 
the  floor. 

A light  dawned  upon  Mrs.  Hopkins.  She  had 
solved  the  mystery! 


/ 


CHAPTER  V 


SAM  COMBINES  BUSINESS  WITH  PLEASURE 

“ You  came  down  after  that  pie,”  she  said, 
turning  upon  Sam. 

“ What  pie  ? ” asked  Sam,  looking  guilty,  how- 
ever. 

“ Don’t  ask  me.  You  know  well  enough. 
You  couldn’t  find  it  in  the  dark,  and  that’s  the 
way  you  came  to  make  such  a noise.  Ten  of 
my  nice  plates  broken,  too!  What  do  you  say 
to  that,  Deacon  Hopkins  ? ” 

“ Samuel,”  said  the  deacon,  “ did  you  do  t.hi* 
wicked  thing  ? ” 

A moment’s  reflection  convinced  Sam  that  it 
would  be  useless  to  deny  it  longer.  The  proofs 
of  Kis  guilt  were  too  strong.  He  might  have 
pleaded  in  his  defense.  “ emotional  insanity,”  but 
he  was  not  familiar  with  the  course  of  justice. 
He  was,  however,  fertile  in  expedients,  and 
thought  of  the  next  best  thing. 

“ Mebbe  I walked  in  my  sleep,”  he  admitted. 

37 


38 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


“Did  you  ever  walk  in  your  sleep?”  asked 
the  deacon  hastily. 

“ Lots  of  times,”  said  Sam. 

“ It  is  rather  strange  that  you  should  go  to  the 
closet  in  your  sleep,”  said  Mrs.  Hopkins  sus- 
piciously. “ I suppose,  if  you’d  found  it,  you’d 
have  eaten  it  in  your  sleep.” 

“ Likely  I should,”  said  Sam.  “ I was 
dreamin’  of  the  pie.  You  know  how  to  make  pie, 
Mrs.  Hopkins;  I never  tasted  so  good  before.” 

Mrs.  Llopkins  was  not  a soft  woman,  but  she 
was  proud  of  her  cooking,  and  accessible  to  flat- 
tery on  that  subject.  Sam  could  not  have  de- 
fended himself  better. 

“ That  may  be,”  she  said,  “ about  your  walk- 
ing in  your  sleep;  but  once  is  enough.  Hereafter 
I’ll  lock  your  door  on  the  outside.  I can’t'  be 
waked  up  every  night,  nor  I can’t  have  my  plates 
broken.” 

“ S’pose  the  house  should  catch  fire,”  sug- 
gested Sam,  who  didn’t  fancy  being  locked  up 
in  his  room. 

“ If  it  does,  I’ll  come  and  let  you  out.  The 
house  is  safer  when  you’re  safe  in  bed.” 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


39 


“ My  wife  is  right,  Samuel,”  said  the  deacon, 
recovering  his  dignity  now  that  his  fears  were 
removed.  “ You  must  be  locked  in  after  to- 
night.” 

Sam  did  not  reply.  On  the  whole,  he  felt  glad 
to  get  off  so  well,  after  alarming  the  house  so 
seriously. 

“ Do  you  mean  to  stay  downstairs  all  night, 
Deacon  Hopkins  ? ” demanded  his  wife,  with  un- 
called-for asperity.  “ If  so,  I shall  leave  you  to 
yourself.” 

“ I’m  ready  to  go  up  when  you  are,”  said  her 
husband.  “ I thought  you  mightn’t  feel  like 
stayin’  down  here  alone.” 

“ Much  protection  you’d  be  in  time  of  danger, 
Mr.  Hopkins — you  that  locked  the  door  on  your 
wife,  because  you  was  afraid ! ” 

“ I wasn’t  thinkin’,”  stammered  the  deacon. 

“ Probably  not,”  said  his  wife,  in  an  incredu- 
lous tone.  “ Now  go  up.  It’s  high  time  we 
were  all  in  bed  again.” 

Sam  was  not  called  at  as  early  an  hour  as  the 
deacon  intended.  The  worthy  man,  in  con- 
sequence of  his  slumbers  being  interrupted,  over- 


40 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


slept  himself,  and  it  was  seven  o’clock  when  he 
called  Sam. 

“ Get  up,  Samuel,”  he  said;  “ it’s  dreadful  late, 
and  you  must  be  spry,  or  you  won’t  catch  up  with 
the  work.” 

Work,  however,  was  not  prominent  in  Sam’s 
mind,  as  his  answer-  showed. 

“Is  breakfast  ready?”  he  asked,  rubbing  his 
eyes. 

“ It’s  ’most  ready.  Get  right  up,  for  it’s  time 
to  go  to  work.” 

“ I s’pose  we’ll  have  breakfast  first,”  said  Sam. 

“ If  it’s  ready.” 

Under  these  circumstances  Sam  did  not  hurry. 
He  did  not  care  .to  work  before  breakfast,  nor, 
for  that  matter,  afterward,  if  he  could  help  it. 
So  he  made  a leisurely,  though  not  an  elaborate 
toilet,  and  did  not  come  downstairs  till  Mrs.  Hop- 
kins called  sharply  up  the  attic  stairs : 

“ Come  down,  you,  Sam ! ” 

“ All  right,  ma’am,  I’m  cornin’,”  said  Sam,  who 
judged  rightly  that  breakfast  was  ready. 

“ We  shan’t  often  let  you  sleep  so  late,”  said 
Mrs.  Hopkins,  who  sat  behind  the  waiter.  “ We 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


4i 


were  broken  of  our  rest  through  your  cutting  up 
last  night,  so  we  overslept  ourselves.” 

“ It’s  pretty  early,”  said  Sam. 

“ W e’d  ought  to  have  been  at  work  in  the  field 
an  hour  ago,”  said  the  deacon. 

At  the  table  Sam  found  work  that  suited  him 
better. 

“ You’ve  got  a good  appetite,”  said  Mrs.  Hop- 
kins, as  Sam  took  the  seventh  slice  of  her  home- 
made bread. 

“ I most  generally  have,”  said  Sam,  with  his 
mouth  full. 

“ That’s  encouraging,  I’m  sure,”  said  Mrs. 
Hopkins  dryly. 

There  was  no  pie  on  the  table,  as  Sam  noticed, 
to  his  regret.  However,  he  was  pretty  full  when 
he  rose  from  the  table. 

“ Now,  Samuel,  you  may  come  along  with 
me,”  said  the  deacon,  putting  on  his  hat. 

Sam  followed  him  out  to  the  barn,  where,  in 
one  corner,  were  kept  the  hoes,  rakes,  and  other 
farming  implements. 

“ Here’s  a hoe  for  you,”  said  the  deacon. 

“ What  are  we  going  to  do  ? ” asked  Sam. 


42  THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 

“The  potatoes  need  hoeing.  Did  you  ever 
hoe  potatoes?  ” 

“ No.” 

“ You’ll  l’arn.  It  ain’t  hard.” 

The  field  was  some  little  distance  from  the 
house — a two-acre  lot  wholly  devoted  to  potatoes. 

“ I guess  we’ll  begin  at  the  further  corner,” 
said  the  deacon.  “ Come  along.” 

When  they  had  reached  that  part  of  the  field 
specified,  the  deacon  stopped. 

“ Now,”  said  he,  “ just  see  how  I do  it;  ” and 
he  carefully  hoed  around  one  of  the  hills. 

“ There,  you  see  it’s  easy.” 

“ I guess  I can  do  it.  Are  you  goin’  to  stay 
here  ? ” 

“ No,  I’ve  got  to  go  to  the  village,  to  the  black- 
smith’s. I’ll  be  back  in  two  hours.  Jest 
hoe  right  along  that  row,  and  then  come  back 
again  on  the  next.  Do  you  understand?  ” 

“ Yes,”  said  Sam. 

“ I want  you  to  work  as  spry  as  you  can,  so’s 
to  make  up  for  lost  time.” 

“ What  time  do  you  have  dinner?  ” asked  our 
hero. 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


43 


“You  ain’t  hungry  so  quick,  be  you?  ” 

“ No,  but  I shall  be  bimeby.  I thought  I’d  like 
to  know  when  to  quit  work  and  go  to  dinner.” 

“ I’ll  be  back  before  that.  You  needn’t  worry 
about  that.” 

The  deacon  turned,  and  directed  his  steps 
homeward. 

As  long  as  he  was  in  sight  Sam  worked  with 
tolerable  speed.  But  when  the  tall  and  stooping 
figure  had  disappeared  from  view  he  rested,  and 
looked  around  him. 

“ It’ll  be  a sight  of  work  to  hoe  all  them 
potatoes,”  he  said  to  himself.  “ I wonder  if  the 
old  man  expects  me  to  do  the  whole?  It’ll  be  a 
tough  job.” 

Sam  leisurely  hoed  another  hill. 

“ It’s  gettin’  hot,”  he  said.  “ Why  don’t  they 
have  trees  to  give  shade?  Then  it  would  be 
more  comfortable.” 

He  hoed  another  hill,  taking  a little  longer  time. 

“ I guess  there  must  be  a million  hills,”  he 
reflected,  looking  around  him  thoughtfully. 
“ It’ll  take  me  from  now  till  next  winter  to  hoe 


’em  all.” 


44 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


At  the  rate  Sam  was  working,  his  calculation 
of  the  time  it  would  take  him  was  not  far  out, 
probably. 

He  finished  another  hill. 

Just  then  a cat,  out  on  a morning  walk,  chanced 
to  pass  through  the  field  a few  rods  away.  Now, 
Sam  could  never  see  a cat  without  wanting  to 
chase  it — a fact  which  would  have  led  the  cat, 
had  she  been  aware  of  it,  to  give  him  a wide  berth. 
But,  unluckily,  Sam  saw  her. 

“ Scat ! ” he  exclaimed,  and,  grasping  his  hoe, 
he  ran  after  puss. 

The  cat  took  alarm,  and,  climbing  the  wall 
which  separated  the  potato  field  from  the  next, 
sped  over  it  in  terror.  Sam  followed  with 
whoops  and  yells,  which  served  to  accelerate  her 
speed.  Occasionally  he  picked  up  a stone,  and 
threw  it  at  her,  and  once  he  threw  the  hoe  in 
the  excitement  of  his  chase.  But  four  legs 
proved  more  than  a match  for  two,  and  finally 
he  was  obliged  to  give  it  up,  but  not  till  he  had 
run  more  than  a quarter  of  a mile.  He  sat  down 
to  rest  on  a rock,  and  soon  another  boy  came  up, 
with  a fishing  pole  over  his  shoulder. 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


45 


44  What  are  you  doing,  Sam?”  he  asked. 

“ I’ve  been  chasin’  a cat,”  said  Sam. 

“ Didn’t  catch  her,  did  you  ? ” 

“ No,  hang  it ! ” 

“ Where’d  you  get  that  hoe  ? ” 

“ I’m  to  work  for  Deacon  Hopkins.  He’s 
took  me.  Where  are  you  goin’  ? ” 

“ A-fishing.” 

“ I wish  I could  go,  too.” 

“ So  do  I.  I’d  like  company.” 

“ Where  are-  you  goin’  to  fish  ? ” 

“ In  a brook  at  the  bottom  of  this  field.” 

“ I’ll  go  and  look  on  a minute  or  two.  I guess 
there  isn’t  any  hurry  about  them  potatoes.” 

The  minute  or  two  lengthened  to  an  hour  and 
a half,  when  Sam  roused  himself  from  his  idle 
mood,  and,  shouldering  his  hoe,  started  for  the 
field  where  he  had  been  set  to  work. 

It  was  full  time.  The  deacon  was  there  before 
him,  surveying  with  angry  look  the  half-dozen 
hills,  which  were  all  that  his  young  assistant  had 
thus  far  hoed. 

“ Now  there’ll  be  a fuss,”  thought  Sam,  and  he 
was  not  far  out  in  that  calculation. 


CHAPTER  VI 


sam’s  sudden  sickness 

“Where  have  you  been,  you  young  scamp?” 
demanded  the  deacon  wrathfully. 

“ I just  went  away  a minute  or  two,”  said  Sam 
abashed. 

“ A minute  or  two ! ” ejaculated  the  deacon. 

“ It  may  have  been  more,”  said  Sam.  “ You 
see  I ain’t  go  no  watch  to  tell  time  by.” 

“ How  comes  it  that  you  have  only  got  through 
six  hills  all  the  morning?  ” said  the  deacon 
sternly. 

“ Well,  you  see,  a cat  came  along ” Sam 

began  to  explain. 

“What  if  she  did  ?”  interrupted  the  deacon. 
“ She  didn’t  stop  your  work,  did  she  ? ” 

“ Why,  I thought  I’d  chase  her  out  of  the 
field.” 

“ What  for?  ” 

“ I thought  she  might  scratch  up  some  of  the 
46 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


47 

potatoes,”  said  Sam,  a brilliant  excuse  dawning 
Upon  him. 

“ How  long  did  it  take  you  to  chase  her  out 
of  the  field,  where  she  wasn’t  doing  any  harm  ? ” 
“ I was  afraid  she’d  come  back,  so  I chased  her 
a good  ways.” 

“ Did  you  catch  her  ? ” 

“ No,  but  I drove  her  away.  I guess  she  won’t 
come  around  here  again,”  said  Sam,  in  the  tone 
of  one  who  had  performed  a virtuous  action. 

“ Did  you  come  right  back  ? ” 

“ I sat  down  to  rest.  You  see,  I was  pretty 
tired  with  running  so  fast.” 

“ If  }^ou  didn’t  run  any  faster  than  you  have 
worked,  a snail  would  catch  you  in  half  a minute,” 
said  the  old  man,  with  justifiable  sarcasm.  “ Sam- 
uel, your  excuse  is  good  for  nothing.  I must 
punish  you.” 

Sam  stood  on  his  guard,  prepared  to  run  if  the 
deacon  should  make  hostile  demonstrations.  But 
his  guardian  was  not  a man  of  violence,  and  did 
not  propose  to  inflict  blows.  He  had  another 
punishment  in  view  suited  to  Sam’s  particular 


case. 


43 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


“ I’ll  go  right  to  work,”  said  Sam,  seeing  that 
no  violence  was  intended,  and  hoping  to  escape 
the  punishment  threatened,  whatever  it  might  be. 

“ You’d  better,”  said  the  deacon. 

Our  hero — I am  afraid  he  has  not  manifested 
any  heroic  qualities  as  yet — went  to  work  with 
remarkable  energy,  to  the  imminent  danger  of 
the  potato  tops,  which  he  came  near  uprooting 
in  several  instances. 

“ Is  this  fast  enough  ? ” he  asked. 

“ It’ll  do.  I’ll  take  the  next  row,  and  we’ll 
work  along  together.  Take  care — I don’t  want 
the  potatoes  dug  up.” 

They  kept  it  up  for  an  hour  or  so,  Sam  work- 
ing more  steadily,  probably,  than  he  had  evef 
done  before  in  his  life.  He  began  to  think  it  was 
no  joke,  as  he  walked  from  hill  to  hill,  keeping 
up  with  the  deacon’s  steady  progress. 

“ There  ain’t  much  fun  in  this,”  he  thought. 
**  I don’t  like  workin’  on  a farm.  It’s  awful  tire- 
some.” 

“ What’s  the  use  of  hoein’  potatoes  ? ” he  asked, 
after  a while.  “ Won’t  they  grow  just  as  well 
without  it?” 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


49 


“No,”  said  the  deacon. 

“ I don’t  see  why  not.” 

“ They  need  to  have  the  earth  loosened  around 
Ihem,  and  heaped  up  where  it’s  fallen  away.” 

“ It’s  lots  of  trouble,”  said  Sam. 

“ We  must  all  work,”  said  the  deacon,  senten- 
tiously. 

“ I wish  potatoes  growed  on  trees  like  apples,” 
said  Sam.  “ They  wouldn’t^  be  no  trouble, 
then.” 

“ You  mustn’t  question  the  Almighty’s  doin’s, 
Samuel,”  said  the  deacon  seriously.  “ Whatever 
He  does  is  right.” 

“ I was  only  wonderin’,  that  was  all,”  said  Sam. 

“ Human  wisdom  is  prone  to  err,”  said  the 
old  man,  indulging  in  a scrap  of  proverbial 
philosophy. 

“ What  does  that  mean  ? ” thought  Sam,  care- 
lessly hitting  the  deacon’s  foot  with  his  descend- 
ing hoe.  Unfortunately,  the  deacon  had  corns 
on  that  foot,  and  the  blow  cost  him  a sharp 
twinge. 

“ You  careless  blockhead ! ” he  shrieked,  rais- 
ing the  injured  foot  from  the  ground',  while  a 


50 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


spasm  of  anguish  contracted  his  features.  “ Did 
you  take  my  foot  for  a potato  hill  ? ” 

“ Did  I hurt  you  ? ” asked  Sam  innocently. 

“ You  hurt  me  like  thunder,”  gasped  the  dea- 
con, using,  in  his  excitement,  words  which  in 
calmer  moments  he  would  have  avoided. 

“ I didn’t  think  it  was  your  foot,”  said  Sam. 

“ I hope  you’ll  be  more  careful  next  time;  you 
’most  killed  me.” 

“ I will,”  said  Sam. 

“ I wonder  if  it  isn’t  time  for  dinner,”  he  began 
to  think  presently,  but,  under  the  circumstances, 
thought  it  best  not  to  refer  to  the  matter.  But, 
at  last  the  welcome  sound  of  the  dinner  bell  was 
heard,  as  it  was  vigorously  rung  at  the  back  door 
by  Mrs.  Hopkins. 

“ That’s  for  dinner,  Samuel,”  said  the  deacon. 
“ We  will  go  to  the  house.” 

“All  right!”  said  Sam  with  alacrity,  throw- 
ing down  the  hoe  in  the  furrow. 

“ Pick  up  that  hoe  and  carry  it  with  you,”  said 
the  deacon. 

“ Then  we  won’t  work  here  any  more  to-day,” 
said  Sam,  brightening  up. 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


5i 


“Yes,  we  will;  but  it’s  no  way  to  leave  the 
hoe  in  the  field.  Some  cat  might  come  along  and 
steal  it,”  he  added  with  unwonted  sarcasm. 

Sam  laughed,  as  he  thought  of  the  idea  of  a 
cat  stealing  a hoe,  and  the  deacon  smiled  at  his 
own  joke. 

Dinner  was  on  the  table.  It  was  the  fashion 
there  to  put  all  on  at  once,  and  Sam,  to  his  great 
satisfaction,  saw  on  one  side  a pie  like  that  which 
had  tempted  him  the  night  before.  The  deacon 
saw  his  look,  and  it  suggested  a fitting  punish- 
ment. But  the  time  was  not  yet. 

Sam  did  ample  justice  to  the  first  course  of 
meat  and  potatoes.  When  that  was  dispatched, 
Mrs.  Hopkins  began  to  cut  the  pie. 

The  deacon  cleared  his  throat. 

“ Samuel  is  to  have  no  pie,  Martha,”  he  said. 

His  wife  thought  it  was  for  his  misdeeds  of 
the  night  before,  and  so  did  Sam. 

“ I couldn’t  help  walkin’  in  my  sleep,”  he  said, 
with  a blank  look  of  disappointment. 

“It  ain’t  that,”  said  the  deacon. 

“What  is  it,  then?”  asked  his  wife. 

“ Samuel  ran  away  from  his  work  this  mornin’. 


52 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


and  was  gone  nigh  on  to  two  hours,”  said  her 
husband. 

“ You  are  quite  right,  Deacon  Hopkins,”  said 
his  wife  emphatically.  “ He  don’t  deserve  any 
dinner  at  all.” 

“ Can’t  I have  some  pie  ? ” asked  Sam,  who 
could  not  bear  to  Ipse  so  tempting  a portion  of  the 
repast, 

“ No,  Samuel.  What  I say  I mean.  He  that 
will  not  work  shall  not  eat.” 

“ I worked  hard  enough  afterward,”  muttered 
Sam. 

“After  I came  back — yes,  I know  that.  You 
worked  well  part  of  the  time,  so  I gave  you  part 
of  your  dinner.  Next  time  you  let  the  cats 
alone.” 

“ Can  I have  some  more  meat,  then  ? ” asked 
Sam. 

“ Y e-es,”  said  the  deacon,  hesitating.  “ You 
need  strength  to  work  this  afternoon.” 

“ S’pose  I get  that  catechism  this  afternoon  in- 
stead of  goin’  to  work,”  suggested  Sam. 

“ That  will  do  after  supper,  Samuel.  All 
things  in  their  place.  The  afternoon  is  for  work; 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


53 

the  evening  for  readin’  and  study,  and  improvin’ 
the  mind.” 

Sam  reflected  that  the  deacon  was  a very  ob- 
stinate man,  and  decided  that  his  arrangements 
were  very  foolish.  What  was  the  use  of  living 
if  you’d  got  to  work  all  the  time  ? A good  many 
people,  older  than  Sam,  are  of  the  same  opinion, 
and  it  is  not  wholly  without  reason;  but  then,  it 
should  be  borne  in  mind  that  Sam  was  opposed 
to  all  work.  He  believed  in  enjoying  himself, 
and  the  work  might  take  care  of  itself.  But  how 
could  it  be  avoided? 

As  Sam  was  reflecting,  a way  opened  itself. 
He  placed  his  hand  on  his  stomach,  and  began  to 
roll  his  eyes,  groaning  meanwhile. 

“What’s  the  matter?”  asked  Mr.  Hopkins. 

“ I feel  sick,”  said  Sam,  screwing  up  his  face 
into  strange  contortions. 

“ It’s  very  sudden,”  said  Mrs.  Hopkins  sus- 
piciously. 

“ So  ’tis,”  said  Sam.  “ I’m  afraid  I’m  going 
to  be  very  sick.  Can  I lay  down  ? ” 

“ What  do  you  think  it  is,  Martha  ? ” asked  the 
deacon,  looking  disturbed. 


54 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


“ I know  what  it  is,”  said  his  wife  calmly. 
“ I’ve  treated  such  attacks  before.  Yes,  you 
may  lie  down  in  your  room,  and  I’ll  bring  you 
some  tea,  as  soon  as  I can  make  it.” 

“ All  right,”  said  Sam,  elated  at  the  success  of 
his  little  trick.  It  was  very  much  pleasanter  to 
lie  down  than  to  hoe  potatoes  on  a hot  day. 

“ How  easy  I took  in  the  old  woman ! ” he 
thought. 

It  was  not  long  before  he  changed  his  mind, 
as  we  shall  see  in  the  next  chapter. 


CHAPTER  VII 


SAM  MEETS  HIS  MATCH 

Sam  went  upstairs  with  alacrity,  and  lay  down 
on  the  bed — not  that  he  was  particularly  tired, 
but  because  he  found  it  more  agreeable  to  lie 
down  than  to  work  in  the  field. 

“ I wish  I had  something  to  read,”  he  thought; 
“ some  nice  dime  novel  like  ‘ The  Demon  of  the 
Danube.’  That  was  splendid.  I like  it  a good 
deal  better  than  Dickens.  It’s  more  excitin’.” 

But  there  was  no  library  in  Sam’s  room,  and 
it  was  very  doubtful  whether  there  were  any  dime 
novels  in  the  house.  The  deacon  belonged  to  the 
old  school  of  moralists,  and  looked  with  suspicion 
upon  all  works  of  fiction,  with  a very  few  excep- 
tions, such  as  “ Pilgrim’s  Progress  ” and  “ Robin- 
son Crusoe,”  which,  however,  he  supposed  to  be 
true  stories. 

Soon  Sam  heard  the  step  of  Mrs.  Hopkins  on 
the  stairs.  He  immediately  began  to'  twist  his 
features  in  such  a way  as  to  express  pain. 

55 


56 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


Mrs.  Hopkins  entered  the  room  with  a cup.  of 
hot  liquid  in  her  hand. 

“ How  do  you  feel  ? ” she  asked. 

“ I feel  bad,”  said  Sam. 

“ Are  you  in  pain  ? ” 

“ Yes,  I’ve  got  a good  deal  of  pain.” 

“ Whereabouts  ? ” 

Sam  placed  his  hand  on  his  stomach  and 
looked  sad. 

“ Y es,  I know  exactly  what  is  the  matter  with 
you,”  said  the  deacon’s  wife. 

“ Then  you  know  a good  deal,”  thought  Sam, 
“ for  I don’t  know  of  anything  at  all  myself.” 
This  was  what  he  thought,  but  he  said,  “ Do 
you  ? ” 

“ Oh,  yes;  I’ve  had  a good  deal  of  experience. 
I know  what  is  good  for  you.” 

Sam  looked  curiously  at  the  cup. 

“ What  is  it?”  he  asked. 

“ It’s  hot  tea;  it’s  very  healin’.” 

Sam  supposed  it  to  be  ordinary  tea,  and  he  had 
no  objection  to  take  it.  But  when  he  put  it  to 
his  lips  there  was  something' about  the  odor  that 
did  not  please  him. 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW  57 

“ It  doesn’t  smell  good,”  he  said,  looking  up 
In  the  face  of  Mrs.  Hopkins. 

“ Medicine  generally  doesn’t,”  she  said  quietly. 

“ I thought  it  was  tea,”  said  Sam. 

“ So  it  is;  it  is  wormwood  tea.” 

“ I don’t  think  I shall  like  it,”  hesitated  Sam. 

“ No  matter  if  you  don’t,  it  will  do  you  good,” 
said  Mrs.  Hopkins. 

Sam  tasted  it,  and  his  face  assumed  an  ex^ 
pression  of  disgust. 

“ I can’t  drink  it,”  he  said. 

“ You  must,”  said  Mrs.  Hopkins  firmly. 

“ I guess  I’ll  get  well  without,”  said  our  hero, 
feeling  that  he  was  in  a scrape. 

“ No,  you  won’t.  You’re  quite  unwell.  I can 
see  it  by  your  face.” 

“ Can  you  ? ” said  Sam,  beginning  to  be 
alarmed  about  his  health. 

“ You  must  take  this  tea,”  said  the  lady  firmly. 

“ I’d  rather  not.” 

“ That’s  neither  here  nor  there.  The  deacon 
needs  you  well,  so  you  can  go  to  work,  and  this 
■will  cure  as  quick  as  anything.” 

“ Suppose  it  doesn’t  ? ” said  Sam. 


58 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


“ Then  I shall  bring  you  up  some  castor  oil  in 
two  hours.”  ® 

Castor  oil ! This  was  even  worse  than  worm- 
wood tea,  and  Sam’s  heart  sank  within  him. 

“ The  old  woman’s  too  much  for  me,”  he 
thought,  with  a sigh. 

“ Come,  take  the  tea,”  said  Mrs.  Hopkins.  “ I 
can’t  wait  here  all  day.” 

Thus  adjured,  Sam  made  a virtue  of  necessity, 
and,  shutting  his  eyes,  gulped  down  the  worm- 
wood. He  shuddered  slightly  when  it  was  all 
gone,  and  his  face  was  a study. 

“ Well  done!”  said  Mrs.  Hopkins.  “It’s 
sure  to  do  you  good.” 

“ I think  I’d  have  got  well  without,”  said  Sam. 
“ I’m  afraid  it  won’t  agree  with  me.” 

“ If  it  don’t,”  said  Mrs.  Hopkins  cheerfully, 
“ I’ll  try  some  castor  oil.” 

“ I guess  I won’t  need  it,”  said  Sam  hastily. 

“ It  was  awful,”  said  Sam  to  himself,  as  the 
nurse  left  him  alone.  “ I’d  rather  hoe  potatoes 
than  take  it  again.  I never  see  such  a terrible 
old  woman.  She  would  make  me  do  it,  when  I 
wasn’t  no  more  sick  than  she  is.” 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW  59 

Mrs.  Hopkins  smiled  to  herself  as  she  went 
downstairs. 

“ Served  him  right,”  she  said  to  herself.  “ I’ll 
l’arn  him  to  be  sick.  Guess  he  won’t  try  it  again 
very  soon.” 

Two  hours  later  Mrs.  Hopkins  presented  her- 
self at  Sam’s  door.  He  had  been  looking  out  of 
the  window;  but  he  bundled  into  bed  as  soon  as 
he  heard  her.  Appearances  must  be  kept  up. 

“ How  do  you  feel  now,  Sam  ? ” asked  Mrs. 
Hopkins. 

“ A good  deal  better,”  said  Sam,  surveying  in 
alarm  a cup  of  some  awful  decoction  in  her  hand. 

“ Do  you  feel  ready  to  go  to  work  again?  ” 

“ Almost,”  said  Sam,  hesitating. 

“ The  wormwood  tea  did  you  good,  it  seems; 
but  you’re  not  quite  well  yet.” 

“ I’ll  soon  be  well,”  said  Sam  hastily. 

“ I mean  you  shall  be,”  said  his  visitor.  “ I’ve 
brought  you  some  more  medicine.” 

“ Is  it  tea?” 

“ No,  castor  oil.” 

“ I don’t  need  it,”  said  Sam,  getting  up  quickly. 
“ I’m  well.” 


6 o 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


“ If  you  are  not  well  enough  to  go  to  work, 
you  must  take  some  oil.” 

“ Yes,  I am,”  said  Sam.  “ I’ll  go  right  out 
into  the  field.” 

“ I don’t  want  you  to  go  unless  you  are  quite 
recovered.  I’m.  sure  the  oil  will  bring  you 
round.” 

“ I’m  all  right,  now,”  said  Sam  hastily. 

“Very  well;  if  you  think  so,  you  can  go  to 
work.” 

Rather  ruefully,  Sam  made  his  way  slowly 
to  the  potato  field,  with  his  hoe  over  his 
shoulder. 

“ Tea  and  castor  oil  are  worse  than  work,”  he 
thought.  “ The  old  woman’s  got  the  best  of 
me,  after  all.  I wonder  whether  she  knew  I was 
makin’  believe.” 

On  this  point  Sam  could  not  make  up  his  mind. 
She  certainly  seemed  in  earnest,  and  never  ex- 
pressed a doubt  about  his  being  really  sick.  But 
all  the  same,  she  made  sickness  very  disagreeable 
to  him,  and  he  felt  that  in  future  he  should  not 
pretend  sickness  when  she  was  at  home.  It  made 
him  almost  sick  to  think  of  the  bitter  tea  he  had 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW  61 

already  drunk,  and  the  oil  would  have  been  even 
worse. 

The  deacon  looked  up  as  he  caught  sight  of 
Sam. 

“ Have  you  got  well  ? ” he  asked  innocently,  for 
he  had  not  been  as  clear-sighted  as  his  wife  in  re- 
gard to  the  character  of  Sam’s  malady. 

“ Yes,”  said  Sam,  “ I’m  a good  deal  better, 
but  I don’t  feel  quite  as  strong  as  I did.” 

“ Mebbe  it  would  be  well  for  you  to*  fast  a 
little,”  said  the  deacon,  in  all  sincerity,  for  fasting 
was  one  of  his  specifics  in  case  of  sickness. 

“ No,  I don’t  think  it  would,”  said  Sam  quickly. 
“ I’ll  feel  better  by  supper  time.” 

“ I hope  you  will,”  said  the  deacon. 

“ I wish  I had  a piece  of  pie  or  somethin’  to 
take  the  awful  taste  out  of  my  mouth,”  thought 
Sam.  “ I can  taste  that  wormwood  jist  as 
plain ! I wonder  why  such  things  are  allowed  to 
grow.” 

For  the  rest  of  the  afternoon  Sam  worked  un- 
usually well.  He  was  under  the  deacon’s  eye, 
and  unable  to  get  away,  though  he  tried  at  least 
once.  After  they  had  been  at  work  for  about  an 


62 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


hour,  Sam  said  suddenly : “ Don’t  you  feel 
thirsty,  Deacon  Hopkins?” 

“ What  makes  you  ask?  ” said  the  deacon. 

“ Because  I’d  jist  as  lieve  go  to  the  house  and 
get  some  water,”  said  Sam,  with  a very  obliging 
air. 

“ You’re  very  considerate,  Samuel;  but  I don’t 
think  that  it’s  very  healthy  to  drink  between 
meals.” 

“ Supposin’  you’re  thirsty  ? ” suggested  Sam- 
uel, disappointed. 

“ It’s  only  fancy.  You  don’t  need  drink  really. 
You  only  think  you  do,”  said  the  deacon,  and  he 
made  some  further  remarks  on  the  subject,  to 
which  Sam  listened  discontentedly.  He  began  to 
think  his  situation  a very  hard  one. 

“ It’s  work — work  all  the  time,”  he  said  to 
himself.  “ What’s  the  good  of  workin’  yourself 
to  death  ? When  I’m  a man  I’ll  work  only  when 
I want  to.” 

Sam  did  not  consider  that  there  might  be  some 
difficulty  in  earning  a living  unless  he  were  will- 
ing to  work  for  it.  The  present  discomfort  was 
all  he  thought  of. 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW  63 

At  last,  much  to  Sam’s  joy,  the  deacon  gave 
the  sign  to  return  to  the  house. 

“ If  you  hadn’t  been  sick,  we’d  have  got 
through  more,”  he  said;  “ but  to-morrow  we  must 
make  up  for  lost  time.” 

“ I hope  it’ll  rain  to-morrow,”  thought  Sam. 
“ We  can’t  work  in  the  rain.” 

At  supper  the  wormwood  seemed  to  give  him 
additional  appetite. 

“ I’m  afraid  you’ll  make  yourself  sick  again, 
Samuel,”  said  the  deacon. 

“ There  ain’t  no  danger,”  said  Sam,  looking 
alarmed  at  the  suggestion.  “ I feel  all  right 
now.” 

“ The  wormwood  did  you  good,”  said  Mrs. 
Hopkins  dryly. 

“ I wonder  if  she  means  anything,”  thought 

Sam. 


CHAPTER  VIII 
sam's  temptation 

A month  passed,  a month  which  it  is  safe  to 
say  was  neither  satisfactory  to  Sam  nor  his  em- 
ployer. The  deacon  discovered  that  the  boy 
needed  constant  watching.  When  he  was  left  to 
himself  he  was  sure  to  shirk  his  work,  and  in- 
dulge his  natural  love  of  living  at  ease.  His  ap- 
petite showed  no  signs  of  decrease,  and  the  deacon 
was  led  to  remark  that  “ Samuel  had  the  stiddy- 
est  appetite  of  any  boy  he  ever  knew.  He  never 
seemed  to  know  when  he  had  eaten  enough.” 

As  for  Mrs.  Hopkins,  Sam  failed  to  produce 
a favorable  impression  upon  her.  He  was  by  no 
means  her  ideal  of  a boy,  though  it  must  be  added 
that  this  ideal  was  so  high  that  few  living  boys 
could  expect  to  attain  it.  He  must  have  an  old 
head  on  young  shoulders,  and,  in  fact,  be  an 
angel  in  all  respects  except  the  wings.  On  these, 
Mrs.  Hopkins  probably  would  not  insist.  Being 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


65 


only' a boy,  and  considerably  lazier  and  more  mis- 
chievous than  the  average,  there  was  not  much 
prospect  of  Sam’s  satisfying  her  requirements. 

“ You’d  better  send  him  to  the  poorhouse., 
deacon,”  she  said  more  than  once.  “ He’s  the 
most  shif’less  boy  I ever  see,  and  it’s  awful  the 
amount  he  eats.” 

“ I guess  I’ll  try  him  a little  longer,”  said  the 
deacon.  “ He  ain’t  had  no  sort  of  bringin’  up, 
you  know.” 

So,  at  the  end  of  four  weeks,  Sam  still  con- 
tinued a member  of  the  deacon’s  household. 

As  for  Sam,  things  were  not  wholly  satisfac- 
tory to  him.  In  spite  of  all  his  adroit  evasions 
of  duty,  he  found  himself  obliged  to  work  more 
than  he  found  agreeable.  He  didn’t  see  the  fun 
of  trudging  after  the  deacon  up  and  down  the 
fields  in  the  warm  summer  days.  Even  his  meals 
did  not  yield  unmingled  satisfaction,  as  he  had 
learned  from  experience  that  Mrs.  Hopkins  did 
not  approve  of  giving  him  a second  slice  of  pie, 
and  in  other  cases  interfered  to  check  the  complete 
gratification  of  his  appetite,  alleging  that  it  wasn’t 
good  for  boys  to  eat  too  much. 


66 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


Sam  took  a different  view  of  the  matter,  and 
felt  that  if  he  was  willing  to  take  the  conse- 
quences, he  ought  to  be  allowed  to  eat  as  much 
as  he  pleased.  He  was  not  troubled  with  the 
catechism  any  more.  The  deacon  found  him  so 
stolid  and  unteachable  that  he  was  forced  to  give 
up  in  despair,  and  Sam  became  master  of  his 
own  time  in  the  evening.  He  usually  strayed 
into  the  village,  where  he  found  company  in  the 
village  store.  Here  it  was  that  he  met  a youth 
who  was  destined  to  exercise  an  important  in- 
fluence upon  his  career.  This  was  Ben  Warren, 
who  had  for  a few  months  filled  a position  in  a 
small  retail  store  in  New  York  City.  Coming 
home,  he  found  himself  a great  man.  Country 
boys  have  generally  a great  curiosity  about  life  in 
the  great  cities,  and  are  eager  to  interview  anyone 
who  can  give  them  authentic  details  concerning 
it.  For  this  reason  Ben  found  himself  much 
sought  after  by  the  village  boys,  and  gave  daz- 
zling descriptions  of  life  in  the  metropolis,  about 
which  he  professed  to  be  fully  informed.  Among 
his  interested  listeners  was  Sam,  whose  travels 
had  been  limited  by  a very  narrow  circle,  but 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW  67 

who,  like  the  majority  of  boys,  was  possessed  by 
a strong  desire  to  see  the  world. 

“ I suppose  there’s  as  many  as  a thousand 
houses  in  New  York?  ” he  said  to  Ben. 

“ A thousand ! ” repeated  Ben,  in  derision. 
“ There’s  a million ! ” 

“ Honest?  ” 

“ Yes,  they  reach  for  miles  and  miles.  There’s 
about  twenty  thousand  streets.” 

“It  must  be  awfully  big!  I’d  like  to  go 
there.” 

“ Oh,  you ! ” said  Ben  contemptuously.  “ It 
wouldn’t  do  for  you  to  go  there.” 

“Why  not?” 

“ You  couldn’t  get  along  nohow.” 

“I’d  like  to  know  why  not?”  said  Sam, 
rather  nettled  at  this  depreciation. 

“ Oh,  you’re  a country  greenhorn.  You’d  get 
taken  in  right  and  left.” 

“ I don’t  believe  I would,”  said  Sam.  “ I ain’t 
as  green  as  you  think.” 

“ You’d  better  stay  with  the  deacon,  and  hoe 
potatoes,”  said  Ben  disparagingly.  “ It  takes  a 
smart  fellow  to  succeed  in  New  York.” 


68 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


“ Is  that  the  reason  you  had  to  come  home?’' 
retorted  Sam. 

“ I’m  going  back  pretty  soon,”  said  Ben.  “ I 
shan’t  stay  long  in  such  a one-horse  place  as 
this.” 

“ Is  it  far  to  New  York?  ” asked  Sam  thought- 
fully. 

“ Over  a hundred  miles.” 

“ Does  it  cost  much  to  go  there  ? ” 

“ Three  dollars  by  the  cars.” 

“ That  isn’t  so  very  much.” 

“ No,  but  you’ve  got  to  pay  your  expenses 
when  you  get  there.” 

“ I could  work.” 

“.What  could  you  do?  You  might,  perhaps, 
black  boots  in  the  City  Hall  Park.” 

“ What  pay  do  boys  get  for  doing  that  ? ” asked 
Sam  seriously. 

“ Sometimes  five  cents,  sometimes  ten.” 

“ I’d  like  it  better  than  farmin’.” 

“ It  might  do  for  you,”  said  Ben,  turning  up 
his  nose. 

“ What  were  you  doing  when  you  were  in  New 
York,  Ben?  ” 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


69 


“ I was  chief  salesman  in  a drygoods  store,” 
said  Ben  with  an  air  of  importance. 

“ Was  it  a good  place  ? ” 

“ Of  course  it  was,  or  I wouldn’t  have  stayed 
there.” 

“ What  made  you  leave  it  ? ” 

“ I had  so  much  care  and  responsibility  that  the 
doctor  told  me  I must  have  rest.  When  the  boss 
was  away,  I run  the  store  all  alone.” 

There  was  no  one  to  contradict  Ben’s  confident 
assertions,  and  though  some  doubt  was  enter- 
tained by  his  listener,  none  was  expressed.  Con- 
sidering~Ben’s  large  claims,  it  was  surprising  that 
his  services  were  not  sought  by  leading  New  York 
firms,  but,  then,  merit  is  not  always  appreciated  at 
once.  That  was  Ben’s  way  of  accounting  for  it. 

Sam  was  never  tired  of  asking  Ben  fresh  ques- 
tions about  New  York.  His  imagination  had 
been  inflamed  by  the  glowing  descriptions  of  the 
latter,  and  he  was  anxious  to  pass  through  a 
similar  experience.  In  fact,  he  was  slowly  mak- 
ing up  his  mind  to  leave  the  deacon,  and  set  out 
for  the  brilliant  paradise  which  so  dazzled  his 
youthful  fancy. 


7c 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


There  was  one  drawback,  however,  and  that  a 
serious  one— the  lack  of  funds.  Though  the 
deacon  supplied  him  with  board,  and  would 
doubtless  kept  him  in  wearing  apparel,  there 
was  no  hint  or  intimation  of  any  further  com- 
pensation for  his  services,  and  Sam's  whole  avail- 
able money  capital  at  this  moment  amounted  to 
only  three  cents.  Now  three  cents  would  pur- 
chase three  sticks  of  candy,  and  Sam  intended  to 
appropriate  them  in  this  way,  but  they  formed  a 
slender  fund  for  traveling  expenses;  and  the 
worst  of  it  was  that  Sam  knew  of  no  possible 
way  of  increasing  them.  If  his  journey  de- 
pended upon  that,  it  would  be  indefinitely  post- 
poned. 

But  circumstances  favored  his  bold  design,  as 
we  shall  see. 

One  evening,  as  Sam  was  returning  from  the 
store,  a man  from  a neighboring  town,  who  was 
driving  by,  reined  up  his  horse,  and  said : “ You 
live  with  Deacon’ Hopkins,  don't  you?" 

“ Yes,  sir." 

“ Are  you  going  home  now  ? " 

“ Yes,  sir." 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


71 


“ Then  I’ll  hand  you  a note  for  him.  Will  you 
think  to  give  it  to  him?  ” 

“ Yes,  sir.” 

“ I would  stop  myself,  but  I haven’t  time  this 
evening.” 

“ All  right.  I’ll  give  it  to  him.” 

“ Take  good  care  of  it,  for  there’s  money  in 
it,”  said  the  man,  as  he  passed  it  to  the  boy. 

Money  in  it!  This  attracted  Sam’s  attention, 
and  excited  his  curiosity. 

“I  wonder  how  much  there  is  in  it?”  he 
thought  to  himself.  “ I wish  it  was  mine.  I 
could  go  to  New  York  to-morrow  if  I only  had 
it.” 

With  this  thought  prominent  in  his  mind,  Sam 
entered  the  house.  Mrs.  Hopkins  was  at  the 
table  knitting,  but  the  deacon  was  not  to  be  seen. 

“ Where  is  the  deacon?  ” asked  Sam. 

“ He’s  gone  to  bed,”  said  Mrs.  Hopkins. 
“ Did  you  want  to  see  him?  ” 

“ No,”  said  Sam  slowly. 

“ It’s  time  you  were  abed,  too,  Sam,”  said  the 
lady.  “ You’re  out  too  late,  as  I was  tellin’  the 
deacon  to-night.  Boys  like  you  ought  to  be  abed 


72 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


at  eight  o’clock,  instead  of  settin’  up  half  the 
night.” 

“ I guess  I’ll  go  to  bed  now,”  said  Sam,  taking 
a lamp  from  the  table. 

“ You’d  better,  and  mind  you  get  up  early  in 
the  mornin’.”  ' 

Sam  did  not  answer,  for  he  was  busy  thinking. 

He  went  upstairs,  fastened  his  door  inside,  and 
taking  out  the  letter  surveyed  the  outside  critic- 
ally. The  envelope  was  not  very  securely  fast- 
ened, and  came  open.  Sam  could  not  resist  the 
temptation  presented,  and  drew  out  the  inclosure. 
His  face  flushed  with  excitement,  as  he  spread 
out  two  five-dollar  bills  on  the  table  before  him. 

“Ten  dollars!”  ejaculated  Sam.  “What  a 
lot  of  money!  If  it  was  only  mine.  I’d  have 
enough  to  get  to  New  York.” 


CHAPTER  IX 


' SAM  TAKES  FRENCH  LEAVE 

If  Sam  had  been  brought  up  to  entertain  strict 
ideas  on  the  subject  of  taking  the  property  of 
others,  and  appropriating  it  to  his  own  use,  the 
temporary  possession  of  the  deacon’s  money 
would  not  have  exposed  him  to  temptation.  But 
his  conscience  had  never  been  awakened  to  the 
iniquity  of  theft.  So  when  it  occurred  to  him 
that  he  had  in  his  possession  money  enough  to 
gratify  his  secret  desire,  and  carry  him  to  New 
York,  there  to  enter  upon  a brilliant  career, 
it  did  not  occur  to  him  that  it  would  be  morally 
wrong  to  do  so.  He  did  realize  the  danger  of 
detection,  however,  and  balanced  in  his  mind 
whether  the  risk  was  worth  incurring.  He  de- 
cided that  it  was. 

“ The  deacon  don’t  know  I’ve  got  the  money,” 
he  reflected.  “ He  won’t  find  it  out  for  a good 
while;  when  he  does,  I shall  be  in  New  York, 
where  he  won’t  think  of  going  to  find  me.” 

73 


7 4 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


This  was  the  way  Sam  reasoned,  and  from  his 
point  of  view  the  scheme  looked  very  plausible. 
Sam  had  a shrewd  idea  that  his  services  were  not 
sufficiently  valuable  to  the  deacon  to  induce  him 
to  make  any  extraordinary  efforts  for  His  cap- 
ture. So,  on  the  whole,  he  made  up  his  mind  to 
run  away. 

“ Shall  I go  now,  or  wait  till  mornin’  ? ” 
thought  Sam. 

He  looked  out  of  his  window.  There  was  no 
moon,  and  the  night  was  therefore  dark.  It 
would  not  be  very  agreeable  to  roam  about  in  the 
darkness.  Besides,  he  was  liable  to  lose  his  way. 
Again,  he  felt  sleepy,  and  the  bed  looked  very 
inviting. 

“ I’ll  wait  till  mornin’,’’  thought  Sam.  “ I’ll 
start  about  four,  and  go  over  to  Wendell,  and 
take  the  train  for  New  York.  I’ll  be  awful 
hungry  when  I get  there.  I wish  I could  wait 
until  after  I have  my  breakfast;  but  it  won’t 
do.” 

Sam  was  not  usually  awake  at  four.  Indeed, 
he  generally  depended  on  being  woke  up  by  the 
deacon  knocking  on  his  door.  But  when  boys 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


75 


or  men  have  some  pleasure  in  view  it  is  apt  to  act 
upon  the  mind  even  when  wrapped  in  slumber, 
and  produce  wakefulness.  So  Sam  woke  up 
about  a quarter  of  four.  His  plan  flashed  upon 
him,  and  he  jumped  out  of  bed.  He  dressed 
quickly,  and  taking  his  shoes  in  his  hand  so  that 
he  might  make  no  noise,  he  crept  downstairs,  and 
unlocked  the  front  door,  and  then,  after  shutting 
it  behind  him,  sat  down  on  the  front  door  stone 
and  put  on  his  shoes. 

“ I guess  they  didn’t  hear  me,”  he  said  to  him- 
self. “ Now  I’ll  be  going.” 

The  sun  had  not  risen,  but  it  was  light  with  the 
gray  light  which  precedes  dawn.  There  was 
every  promise  of  a fine  day,  and  this  helped  to 
raise  Sam’s  spirits 

“ What  ’ll  the  deacon  say  when  he  comes  to 
wake  me  up  ? ” thought  our  hero,  though  I am 
almost  ashamed  to  give  Sam  such  a name,  for  I 
am  afraid  he  is  acting  in  a manner  very  unlike 
the  well-behaved  heroes  of  most  juvenile  stories, 
my  own  among  the  number.  However,  since  I 
have  chosen  to  write  about  a “ young  outlaw,”  I 
must  describe  him  as  he  is,  and  warn  my  boy 


76 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


readers  that  I by  no  means  recommend  them  to 
pattern  after  him. 

Before  accompanying  Sam  on  his  travels,  let  us 
see  how  the  deacon  was  affected  by  his  flight. 

At  five  o’clock  he  went  up  to  Sam’s  door  and 
knocked. 

There  was  no  answer. 

The  deacon  knocked  louder. 

Still  there  was  no  answer. 

“ How  sound  the  boy  sleeps ! ” muttered  the 
old  man,  and  he  applied  his  knuckles  vigorously 
to  the  door.  Still  without  effect.  Thereupon 
he  tried  the  door,  and  found  that  it  was  un- 
locked. He  opened  it,  and  walked  to  the  bed, 
not  doubting  that  he  would  see  Sam  fast  asleep. 
But  a surprise  awaited  him.  The  bed  was  empty, 
though  it  had  evidently  been  occupied  during  the 
night. 

“ Bless  my  soul ! the  boy’s  up,”  ejaculated  the 
deacon. 

A wild  idea  came  to  him  that  Sam  had 
voluntarily  got  up  at  this  early  hour,  and  gone 
to  work,  but  he  dismissed  it  at  once  as  absurd. 
He  knew  Sam  far  too  well  for  that. 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW  77 

Why,  then,  had  he  got  up?  Perhaps  he  was 
unwell,  and  could  not  sleep.  Not  .dreaming  of 
his  running  away,  this  seemed  to  the  deacon  the 
most  plausible  way  of  accounting  for  Sam’s  dis- 
appearance, but  he  decided  to  go  down  and  com- 
municate the  news  to  his  wife. 

“ Why  were  you  gone  so  long,  deacon  ? ” asked 
Mrs.  Hopkins.  “ Couldn’t  you  wake  him  up  ? ” 
“ He  wasn’t  there.” 

“ Wasn’t  where  ? ” 

“ In  bed.” 

“ What  do  you  mean  ? ” 

“ I mean  that  Sam’s  got  up  already.  I couldn’t 
find  him.” 

“ Couldn’t  find  him?  ” 

“ No,  Martha.” 

“ Had  the  bed  been  slept  in  ? ” 

“ Of  course.  I s’pose  he  was  sick,  and  couldn’t 
sleep,  so  he  went  downstairs.” 

“ Perhaps  he’s  gone  down  to  the  pantry,”  said 
Mrs.  Hopkins  suspiciously.  “ I’ll  go  down  and 
see.” 

She  went  downstairs,  followed  by  the  deacon. 
She  instituted  an  examination,  but  found  Sam 


78 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


guiltless  of  a fresh  attempt  upon  the  provision 
department.  She  went  to  the  front  door,  and 
found  it  unlocked. 

“ He’s  gone  out,”  she  said. 

“ So  he  has,  but  I guess  he’ll  be  back  to  break- 
fast,” said  the  deacon. 

“ I don’t,”  said  the  lady. 

“ Why  not?  ” 

“ Because  I think  he’s  run  away.” 

“ Run  away ! ” exclaimed  the  deacon.  “ Why, 
I never  had  a boy  run  away  from  me.” 

“ Well  you  have  now.” 

“ Where  would  he  go  ? He  ain’t  got  no  home. 
He  wouldn’t  go  to  the  poorhouse.” 

“ Of  course  not.  I never  heard  of  anybody 
that  had  a comfortable  home  running  away  to  the 
poorhouse.” 

“ But  why  should  he  run  away  ? ” argued  the 
deacon. 

“ Boys  often  run  away,”  said  his  wife  senten- 
tiously. 

“ He  had  no  cause.” 

“ Yes,  he  had.  You  made  him  work,  and  lie’s 
lazy,  and  don’t  like  work.  I’m  not  surprised.” 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW  79 

“ I s’pose  I’d  better  go  after  him,”  said  the 
deacon. 

“ Don’t  you  stir  a step  to  go,  deacon.  He 
ain’t  worth  going  after.  I’m  glad  we’ve  got  rid 
of  him.” 

“ Well,  he  didn’t  do  much  work,”  admitted  the 
deacon. 

“ While  he  ate  enough  for  two  boys.  Good 
riddance  to  bad  rubbish,  I say.” 

“ I don’t  know  how  he’s  goin’  to  get  along. 
He  didn’t  have  no  money.” 

“ I don’t  care  how  he  gets  along,  as  long  as 
he  don’t  come  back.  There’s  plenty  of  better 
boys  you  can  get.” 

Sam  would  not  have  felt  flattered,  if  he  had 
heard  this  final  verdict  upon  his  merits.  It  must 
be  confessed,  however,  that  it  was  well  deserved. 

A few  days  afterward  the  deacon  obtained  the 
services  of  another  boy,  whom  he  found  more 
satisfactory  than  the  runaway,  and  Sam  was  no 
longer  missed.  It  was  not  till  the  tenth  day  that 
he  learned  of  the  theft.  While  riding  on  that 
day,  he  met  Mr.  Comstock,  who  had  confided  to 
Sam  the  money-letter. 


8o 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


“ Good-morning,  Deacon  Hopkins,”  said  he, 
stopping  his  horse. 

“ Good-morning,”  said  the  deacon. 

“ I suppose  your  boy  handed  you  a letter  from 
me.” 

“ I haven’t  received  any  letter,”  said  the 
deacon,  surprised. 

“ It  was  early  last  week  that  I met  a boy  who 
said  he  lived  with  you.  As  I was  in  a hurry,  I 
, gave  him  a letter  containing  ten  dollars,  which  I 
asked  him  to  give  to  you.” 

“ What  day  was  it  ? ” asked  the  deacon 
eagerly. 

“ Monday.  . Do  you  mean  to  say  he  didn’t 
give  it  to  you  ? ” 

“ No ; he  ran  away  the  next  morning,  and  I 
haven’t  seen  him  since.” 

“ Then  he  ran  away  with  the  money — the 
young  thief!  I told  him  there  was  money 
in  it.” 

“ Bless  my  soul ! I didn’t  think  Sam  was  so 
bad,”  ejaculated  the  deacon. 

u Didn’t  you  go  after  him  ? ” 

“ No  ; he  wasn’t  very  good  to  work,  and  I 


I 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


3 1 

thought  I’d  let  him  run.  Ef  I’d  knowed  about 
the  money,  I’d  have  gone  after  him.” 

“ It  isn’t  too  late,  now.” 

“ I’ll  ask  my  wife  what  I’d  better  do.” 

The  deacon  conferred  with  his  wife,  who  was 
greatly  incensed  against  Sam,  and  would  have 
advised  pursuit,  but  they  had  no  clew  to  his  pres- 
ent whereabouts. 

“ He’ll  come  back  some  time,  deacon,”  said 
she.  “ When  he  does,  have  him  took  up.” 

But  years  passed,  and  Sam  did  not  come  back, 
nor  did  the  deacon  set  eyes  on  him  for  four  years, 
and  then  under  the  circumstances  recorded  in 
the  first  chapter. 


CHAPTER  X 


sam’s  adventures  at  the  depot 

It  was  six  miles  to  the  station  at  Wendell, 
where  Sam  proposed  to  take  the  cars  for  New 
York.  He  had  to  travel  on  an  empty  stomach, 
and  naturally  got  ravenously  hungry  before  he 
reached  his  destination.  About  half  a mile  this 
side  of  the  depot  he  passed  a grocery  store,  and 
it  occurred  to  him  that  he  might  get  something 
to  eat  there. 

Entering,  he  saw  a young  man  in  his  shirt 
sleeves  engaged  in  sweeping. 

“ Have  you  got  anything  good  to  eat?  ” asked 
Sam. 

“ This  ain’t  a hotel,”  said  the  young  man, 
taking  Sam  for  a penniless  adventurer. 

“ I knew  that  before,”  said  Sam,  “ but  haven’t 
you  got  some  crackers  or  something,  to  stay  a 
feller’s  stomach  ? ” 

“ Haven’t  you  had  any  breakfast  ? ” asked  the 
clerk  curiously. 


82 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


83 


« No.” 

“ Don’t  they  give  you  breakfast  where  you 
live?” 

“ Not  so  early  in  the  morning.  You  see,  I 
had  to  take  an  early  start,  ’cause  I’m  goin’  to 
attend  my  grandmother’s  funeral.” 

This,  of  course,  was  a story  trumped  up  for 
the  occasion. 

“ We’ve  got  some  raw  potatoes,”  said  the  clerk, 
grinning. 

“ I’ve  had  enough  to  do  with  potatoes,”  said 
Sam.  “ Haven’t  you  got  some  crackers  ? ” 

“ Come  to  think  of  it,  we  have.  How  many 
will  you  have  ? ” 

“ About  a dozen.” 

While  they  were  being  put  up  in  a paper  bag, 
the  clerk  inquired : “ How  far  off  does  your 
grandmother  live  ? ” 

“ About  twenty  miles  from  here,  on  the  rail- 
road,” answered  Sam,  who  didn’t  care  to  mention 
that  he  was  bound  for  New  York. 

“ Warwick,  I suppose.” 

“ Yes,”  said  Sam  at  a venture.  “ How  soon 


does  the  train  start  ? ” 


84 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


“ In  about  half  an  hour.  Hold  on,  though; 
that’s  the  New  York  train,  and  don’t  stop  at 
Warwick.” 

“ I guess  I’ll  be  goin’,”  said  Sam  hurriedly. 
“ Where’s  the  depot  ? ” 

“ Half  a mile  straight  ahead,  but  you  needn’t 
hurry.  Train  for  Warwick  don’t  go  till  ten.” 

“ Never  mind.  I want  to  see  the  New  York 
train  start,”  and  Sam  hurried  off,  eating  crackers 
as  he  walked. 

“ I’m  glad  the  train  starts  so  quick,”  thought 
Sam.  “ I don’t  want  to  wait  around  here  long. 
I might  meet  somebody  that  knows  me.” 

He  had  no'  difficulty  in  finding  the  depot.  It 
was  a plain  building,  about  twenty  by  thirty  feet, 
with  a piazza  on  the  sideUoward  the  track.  He 
entered,  and  going  up  to  the  ticket-office  asked 
for  a ticket  fi>  New  York. 

“ For  yourself?  ” asked  the  station  master. 

“ Yes,”  said  Sam. 

“ How  old  are  you?  ” 

“ Twelve.” 

“ Then  you’ll  have  to  pay  for  a whole  ticket. 
Three  dollars.” 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


85 


All  right,”  said  Sam  promptly,  and  he  drew 
eut  a five-dollar  bill,  receiving  in  return  two  dol- 
lars and  a ticket. 

“Do  you  live  in  New  York,  sonny?”  asked 
the  station  master. 

“ No,  I’m  only  goin’  to  see  my  aunt,”  answered 
Sam,  with  another  impromptu  falsehood. 

“ I know  something  about  New  York.  In 
what  street  does  your  aunt  live  ? ” 

Sam  was  posed,  for  he  did  not  know  the  name 
of  even  one  street  in  the  city  he  was  going  to. 

“ I don’t  exactly  remember,”  he  was  forced 
to  admit. 

“ Then  how  do  you  expect  to  find  her  if  you 
don’t  know  where  she  lives?” 

“ Oh,  she’ll  meet  me  at  the  depot,”  said  Sam 
readily. 

“ Suppose  she  don’t  ? ” 

“ I’ll  find  her  somehow.  But  she’s  sure  to 
meet  me.” 

“ Going  to  stay  long  in  the  city?  ” 

“ I hope  so.  Perhaps  my  aunt’ll  adopt  me. 
How  soon  will  the  train  be  along?  ” 

“ In  about  fifteen  minutes.” 


86 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


Here  an  old  lady  came  up  and  asked  for  a 
ticket  to  New  York. 

“ Three  dollars,  ma’am.” 

“ Three  dollars!  Can't  you  take  less?  ” asked 
the  old  lady,  fumbling  in  her  pocket  for  her  purse. 

“ No,  ma’am,  the  price  is  fixed.” 

“ It’s  a sight  of  money.  Seems  thro  wed  away, 
too,  jest  for  travelin’.  You  ain’t  got  anything  to 
show  for  it.  I never  was  to  York  in  my 
life.” 

“ Please  hurry,  ma’am,  there  are  others  wait- 
ing.” 

“ Massy  sakes,  don’t  be  so  hasty!  There’s  the 
money.” 

“ And  there’s  your  ticket.” 

“ I wish  I know’d  somebody  goin’  to  New 
York.  I’m  afeared  to  travel  alone.” 

“ There’s  a boy  going,”  said  the  station  master, 
pointing  to  Sam. 

“ Are  you  goin’  to  York?  ” asked  the  old  lady, 
peering  over  her  spectacles  at  Sam. 

“ Yes,  ma’am.” 

“ Was  you  ever  there  afore  ? ” 

“ No,  ma’am.” 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW'  8 7 

“ Ain’t  your  folks  afeared  to  have  you  go 
alone?  ” 

“ Oh,  no,  they  don’t  mind.” 

“ I wish  you  was  older,  so’s  you  could  look 
after  me.” 

Sam  was  rather  flattered  by  the  idea  of  having 
a lady  under  his  charge,  and  said : “ I’ll  take  care 
of  you,  :r  you  want  me  to.” 

“Will  you?  That’s  a good  boy.  What’s 
your  name  ? ” 

“ Sam  Barker,”  answered  our  hero,  with  some 
hesitation,  not  feeling  sure  whether  it  was  politic 
to  mention  his  real  name. 

“ Do  you  live  in  New  York?  ” 

“ No,  ma’am;  but  I’m  goin’  to.” 

“ When  will  the  cars  git  along?  ” 

“ In  about  ten  minutes.” 

“ You’ll  help  me  in,  won’t  you?  I’ve  got  two 
bandboxes,  and  I don’t  know  how  to>  manage.” 

“ Yes,  ma’am,  I’ll  help  you.  I’m  goin’  out  on 
the  platform,  but  I’ll  come  in  when  the  cars  come 
along.” 

Sam  went  out  on  the  platform,  and  watched 
eagerly  for  the  approach  of  the  cars.  Up  they 


88 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


Game,  thundering  along  the  track,  and  Sam 
rushed  into  the  depot  in  excitement. 

“ Come  along,  ma’am,”  he  said.  “ The  cars 
are  here.” 

The  old  lady  was  in  a flutter  of  excitement 
also.  She  seized  one  bandbox,  and  Sam  the 

other,  and  they  hurried  out  on  the  platform. 
They  were  just  climbing  up  the  steps,  when  the 
conductor  asked : “ Where  are  you  going?  ” 

“ To  York,  of  course.” 

“ Then  this  isn’t  the  train.  It  is  going  in  the 
opposite  direction.” 

“ Lawful  suz ! ” ejaculated  the  old  lady,  in  dis- 
may. “ What  made  you  tell  me  wrong,  you  bad 
boy?”  and  she  glared  at  him  reproachfully  over 
her  glasses. 

“ How  should  I know  ? ” said  Sam,  rather 
abashed.  “ I didn’t  know  about  no  other  train.” 

“ You  come  near  makin’  me  go  wrong.” 

“ I can’t  help  it.  It  would  be  just  as  bad  for 
me.” 

“ When  does  the  train  go  to  York,  somebody,  ” 
asked  the  old  lady,  looking  about  her  in  a general 


way. 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW  89 

“ Next  train;  comes  around  in  about  five  min- 
utes.” 

Sam  helped  the  old  lady  back  into  the  depot, 
rather  ashamed  of  the  mistake  he  had  made.  He 
saw  that  she  had  lost  some  of  her  confidence  in 
him,  and  it  mortified  him  somewhat. 

It  was  nearly  ten  minutes  after — for  the  train 
was  late — -before  the  right  cars  came  up. 

Sam  dashed  into  the  depot  again,  and  seized 
a bandbox. 

“ Here’s  the  cars.  Come  along,”  he  said. 

“ I won’t  stir  a step  till  I know  if  it’s  the  right 
cars,”  said  the  old  lady  firmly. 

“ Then  you  may  stay  here,”  said  Sam.  “ I’m 
goin’.” 

“ Don’t  leave  your  grandmother,”  said  a gen- 
tleman, standing  by. 

“ She  isn’t  my  grandmother.  Isn’t  this  the 
train  to  New  York?” 

“ Yes.” 

Sam  seized  the  bandbox  once  more,  and  this 
time  the  old  lady  followed  him. 

They  got  into  the  cars  without  difficulty,  and 
the  old  lady  breathed  a sigh  of  relief. 


90 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


Sam  took  a seat  at  the  window  just  behind  her, 
and  his  heart  bounded  with  exultation  as  he  re- 
flected that  in  a few  hours  he  would  be  in  the 
great  city,  of  which  he  had  such  vague  and  won- 
derful ideas.  The  only  drawback  to  his  enjoy- 
ment was  the  loss  of  his  usual  morning  meal. 
The  crackers  helped  to  fill  him  up,  but  they  were 
a poor  substitute  for  the  warm  breakfast  to  which 
he  had  been  accustomed  at  the  deacon’s.  Still, 
Sam  did  not  wish  himself  back.  Indeed,  as  he 
thought  of  the  deacon’s  bewilderment  on  dis- 
covering his  disappearance,  he  broke  into  an 
involuntary  laugh. 

“ What  are  you  laffin’  at  ? ” asked  the  old  lady, 
suspiciously. 

Sam  answered : “ I was  thinkin’  how  near  we 
came  to  bein’  carried  off  to  the  wrong  place.” 

“ That  ain’t  anything  to  laff  at,”  said  the  old 
lady  grimly. 


CHAPTER  XI 

FIRST  EXPERIENCES  IN  THE  CITY 

There  are  few  boys  who  do  not  enjoy  a trip 
on  the  railroad,  especially  for  the  first  time.  The 
five  hours  which  Sam  spent  on  his  journey  gave 
him  unqualified  delight.  Occasionally  his  atten- 
tion was  called  off  from  the  scenery  by  an  exclam- 
ation from  the  old  lady,  who  at  every  jolt  thought 
the  cars  were  off  the  track. 

Sam  liberally  patronized  the  apple  and  peanut 
merchant,  who  about  once  an  hour  walked 
through  the  cars.  The  crackers  which  he  had 
purchased  at  the  grocery  store  had  not  spoiled 
his  appetite,  but  rather  appeared  to  sharpen  it. 
The  old  lady  apparently  became  hungty  also,  for 
she  called  the  apple  vender  to  her. 

“ What  do  you  ask  for  them  apples  ? ” she  in- 
quired. 

“ The  largest  are  three  cents  apiece,  the  small- 
est, two  cents.” 


91 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


92 

“ That’s  an  awful  price.  They  ain’t  worth 
half  that.” 

“We  can’t  sell  ’em  for  less,  and  make  any 
profit.” 

“ I’ll  give  you  a cent  for  that  one,”  she  con- 
tinued, pointing  to  the  largest  in  the  basket. 

“ That ! Why,  that’s  a three-center.  Can’t 
take  it  nohow.” 

“ I’ll  give  you  three  cents  for  them  two.” 

“ No,  ma’am,  you  may  have  ’em  for  five  cents.” 

“Then  I won’t  buy  ’em.  My  darter  will 
give  me  plenty  for  nothin’.” 

“ She  may,  but  I can’t.” 

So  the  old  lady  heroically  put  away  the  temp- 
tation, and  refused  to  purchase. 

All  things  must  have  an  end,  and  Sam’s  journey 
was  at  length  over.  The  cars  entered  the  great 
depot.  Sam  hurried  out  of  the  cars,  never  giving 
a thought  to  the  old  lady,  who  expected  his  help 
in  carrying  out  her  bandboxes.  He  was  eager 
to  make  his  first  acquaintance  with  the  streets 
of  New  York.  There  w'as  a crowd  of  hackmen 
in  waiting,  all  of  whom  appeared  to  Sam  to  be 
seeing  which  could  talk  fastest. 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW  93 

“Have  a carriage,  sir?  Take  you  to  any 
hotel.” 

One  of  them  got  hold  of  Sam  by  the  arms,  and 
attempted  to  lead  him  to  his  carriage. 

“ Hold  on  a minute,  mister,”  said  Sam,  draw- 
ing back.  “ Where  are  you  goin’  to  take  me?  ” 

“Anywhere  you  say.  Astor  House,  St.  Nich- 
olas, or  any  other.” 

“Is  it  far?” 

“ About  five  miles,”  said  the  hackman  glibly. 

“ How  much  are  you  goin’  to  charge  ? ” 

“ Oniy  three  dollars.” 

“ Three  dollars,”  repeated  Sam,  in  amazement. 

He  had  less  than  seven  dollars  now,  and, 
though  he  was  not  particularly  provident  he  knew 
that  it  would  never  do  to  spend  almost  half  his 
slender  stock  of  money  for  cab  hire. 

“ Never  mind,”  said  he.  “ I’ll  walk.” 

“You  can’t;  it’s  too  far,”  said  the  hackman, 
eager  for  a fare. 

“ I’ll  try.” 

So  Sam  strolled  out  of  the  depot,  and  walked 
away.  He  didn’t  know  exactly  where  fo  go,  and 
thought  he  would  follow  a man  with  a carpet- 


94 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


bag,  who  appeared  to  know  his  way.  This  mart 
unconsciously  guided  him  to  Broadway.  Sam 
realized,  from  the  stately  character  of  the  build- 
ings, that  he  was  in  an  important  street,  and, 
cutting  loose  from  his  guide,  walked  down  to- 
ward the  City  Hall  Park.  It  seemed  to  him  like 
a dream;  these  beautiful  warehouses,  showy 
stores,  and  the  moving  throng,  which  never 
seemed  to  grow  less,  surprised  him  also. 
Though  he  knew  in  advance  that  New  York  must 
be  very  different  from  the  little  country  town 
which,  until  now,  had  been  his  home,  he  was  not 
prepared  for  so  great  a difference,  and  wandered 
on,  his  mouth  and  eyes  wide  open. 

At  last  he  reached  the  City  Hall  Park,  and, 
catching  sight  of  a bench  on  which  one  or  two 
persons  were  already  sitting,  Sam,  feeling  tired 
with  his  walk,  entered  the  park,  and  sat  down 

tOO'. 

“ Black  yer  boots?”  inquired  a dirty-faced  boy, 
with  a box  slung  over  his  shoulders. 

Sam  looked  at  his  shoes,  begrimed  with  a long 
country  walk,  and  hesitated. 

“ What  do  you  ask  ? ” he  said. 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


95 


“ It’s  worth  a quarter  to  black  them  shoes,” 
said  the  boy,  surveying  them  critically. 

“ Then  I can’t  afford  it.” 

“ Twenty  cents.” 

“ No,”  said  Sam.  “ I’ve  got  to  earn  my  own 
living,  and  I can’t  afford  it.  Is  blackin’  boots 
a good  business  ? ” 

“ Some  days  it  is,  but  if  it  comes  rainy,  it  isn’t. 
I’ll  give  you  a bully  shine  for  ten  cents.” 

“ Will  you  show  me  afterward  where  I can  get 
some  dinner  cheap  ? ” asked  Sam,  who  was  still 
hungry. 

“ Yes,”  said  the  bootblack.  “ I know  a tiptop 
place.” 

“Is  it  far  off?” 

“ Right  around  in  Chatham  Street — only  a 
minute’s  walk.” 

“ All  right.  Go  ahead.  I’ll  give  you  ten 
cents.” 

Sam  felt  that  he  was  paying  his  money  not  only 
for  the  actual  service  done,  but  for  valuable  in- 
formation besides.  On  the  whole,  though  he 
knew  he  must  be  economical,  it  seemed  to  him  a 
paying  investment. 


96 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


“ Did  you  come  from  the  country  ? ” asked  the 
young  knight  of  the  blacking  brush,  while  he 
was  vigorously  brushing  the  first  shoe. 

“ Yes,”  said  Sam.  “ I only  got  here  just 
now.” 

“ That’s  what  I thought.” 

“Why?” 

“ Because  you  look  like  a greenhorn.” 

“ Do  you  mean  to  insult  me  ? ” asked  Sam, 
nettled. 

“ No,”  said  the  other;  “ only,  if  you’ve  never 
been  here  before,  of  course,  you’re  green.” 

“ I won’t  be  long,”  said  Sam  hastily. 

“ Course  you  won’t,  ’specially  if  you  have  me 
to  show  you  ’round.” 

“Have  you  lived  long  in  New  York?”  in- 
quired Sam. 

“ I was  born  here,”  said  the  boy. 

“ Have  you  been  long  blackin’  boots?  ” 

“ Ever  since  I was  knee-high  to  a doorstep.” 

“ Then  you  make  a living  at  it?  ” 

“ I don’t  starve.  What  made  you  leave  the 
Sountry  ? ” 

“ I got  tired  of  working  on -a  farm.” 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW  97 

“ Did  you  have  enough  to  eat  ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ And  a good  bed  to  sleep  in  ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ Then  you  ouglit’d  to  have  stayed  there,”* 
said  the  bootblack. 

“ I think  I shall  like  the  city  better,”  said  Sam. 
“ There’s  a good  deal  more  goin’  on.” 

“ I’d  like  to  try  the  country.  You  don’t  live 
at  the  West,  do  you?” 

“ No.” 

“ Lots  of  boys  goes  West.  Maybe  I’ll  go 
there,  some  time.” 

“ Is  it  a good  place?  ” 

“ That’s  what  they  say.  The  boys  gets  good 
homes  out  there  on  farms.” 

“ Then  I don’t  want  to  go,”  said  Sam.  “ I’m 
tired  of  farmin’.” 

By  this  time  the  shoes  were  polished. 

“ Ain’t  that  a bully  shine  ? ” asked  the  boot- 
black,  surveying  his  work  with  satisfaction. 

“ Yes,”  said  Sam.  “ You  know  how  to 
do  it.” 

“Course  I do.  Now  where’s  the  stamps ?’* 


98  THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 

Sam  drew  out  ten  cents,  and  handed  to  the 
boy. 

“ Now  show  me  where  I can  get  some 
dinner.” 

“All  right.  Come  along ! ” and  the  boy,  sling- 
ing his  box  over  his  shoulder,  led  the  way  to  a 
small  place  on  Chatham  Street.  It  was  in  a base- 
ment, and  did  not  look  overneat;  but  Sam  was 
too  hungry  to  be  particular,  and  the  odor  of  the 
cooking  was  very  grateful  to  him. 

“ I guess  I’ll  get  a plate  o’  meat,  too,”  said  the 
bootblack.  “ I ain’t  had  anything  since  break- 
fast.” 

They  sat  down  side  by  side  at  a table,  and  Sam 
looked  over  the  bill  of  fare.  He  finally  ordered 
a plate  of  roast  beef  for  ten  cents,  and  his  com- 
panion followed  his  example.  The  plates  were 
brought,  accompanied  by  a triangular  wedge  of 
bread,  and  a small  amount  of  mashed  potato.  It 
was  not  a feast  for  an  epicure,  but  both  Sam  and 
his  companion  appeared  to  enjoy  it. 

Sam  was  still  hungry. 

“ They  didn’t  bring  much,”  he  said.  “ I guess 
I’ll  have  another  plate.” 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


99 


“ I ain’t  got  stamps  enough,”  said  his  com- 
panion. 

“ If  you  want  another  plate,  I’ll  pay  for  it,” 
said  Sam,  with  a sudden  impulse  of  generosity. 

“ Will  you?  You’re  a brick!  ” said  the  boot- 
black  heartily.  “ Then  I don’t  mind.  I’ll  have 
another.” 

“ Do  they  have  any  pie  ? ” asked  Sam. 

“ Course  they  do.” 

“ Then  I’ll  have  a piece  afterward.” 

He  did  not  offer  to  treat  his  companion  to  pie, 
for  he  realized  that  his  stock  of  money  was  not 
inexhaustible.  This  did  not  appear  to  be  ex- 
pected, however,  and  the  two  parted  on  very  good 
terms,  when  the  dinner  was  over. 


CHAPTER  XII 


CLARENCE  BROWN 

Sam  continued  to  walk  about  in  the  neighbor- 
hood of  the  City  Hall  Park,  first  in  one  direction, 
then  in  another;  but  at  last  he  became  fatigued. 
It  had  been  an  unusually  exciting  day,  and  he  had 
taken  more  exercise  than  usual,  though  he  had 
not  worked;  for  his  morning  walk,  added  to  his 
rambles  about  the  city  streets,  probably  amounted 
to  not  less  than  twelve  miles.  Then,  too,  Sam 
began  to  realize  what  older  and  more  extensive 
travelers  know  well,  that  nothing  is  more  weari- 
some than  sightseeing. 

So  the  problem  forced  itself  upon  his  attention 
■ — where  was  he  to  sleep?  The  bed  he  slept  in 
the  night  before  was  more  than  a hundred  miles 
away.  It  struck  Sam  as  strange,  for  we  must  re- 
member how  inexperienced  he  was,  that  he  must 
pay  for  the  use  of  a bed.  How  much,  he  had  no 
idea,  but  felt  that  it  was  time  to  make  some  in- 
quiries. 


100 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


IOI 


He  went  into  a hotel  on  the  European  system, 
and  asked  a man  who  was  standing  at  the  cigar 
stand,  “ What  do  you  charge  for  sleeping  here?  ” 

“ Ask  of  that  man  at  the  desk,”  said  the  cigar 
vender. 

Sam  followed  directions,  and,  approaching  the 
room-clerk,  preferred  the  same  inquiry. 

“ One  dollar,”  was  the  answer? 

“One  dollar,  just  for  sleeping?”  inquired 
Sam,  in  surprise,  for  in  his  native  village  he  knew 
that  the  school  teacher  got  boarded  for  three  dol- 
lars a week,  board  and  lodging  complete  for  seven 
days. 

“ Those  are  our  terms,”  said  the  clerk. 

“ I don’t  care  about  a nice  room,”  said  Sam, 
hoping  to  secure  a reduction. 

“ We  charge  more  for  our  nice  rooms,”  said 
the  clerk. 

“ Ain’t  there  any  cheaper  hotels  ? ” asked  our 
hero,  rather  dismayed  at  his  sudden  discovery  of 
the  great  cost  of  living  in  New  York. 

“ I suppose  so,”  said  the  clerk  carelessly;  but 
he  did  not  volunteer  any  information  as  to  their 
whereabouts. 


102 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


Sam  walked  slowly  out  of  the  hotel,  quite  un- 
certain where  to  go,  or  what  to  do.  He  had 
money  enough  to  pay  for  a night’s  lodging,  even 
at  this  high  price,  but  he  judged  wisely  that  he 
could  not  afford  to  spend  so  large  a part  of  his 
small  stock  of  money, 

“ I wonder  where  the  boys  sleep  that  black 
boots,”  he  thought.  “ They  can’t  pay  a dollar  a 
night  for  sleeping.” 

He  looked  around  for  the  boy  who  had  guided 
him  to  a restaurant,  but  could  not  find  him. 

It  was  now  eight  o’clock,  and  he  began  to  think 
he  should  have  to  go  back  to  the  hotel  after  all, 
when  a shabby-looking  man  with  watery  eyes  and 
a red  nose,  accosted  him. 

“ Are  you  a stranger  in  the  city,  my  young 
friend  ? ” he  asked. 

“ Yes,”  said  Sam,  rather  relieved  at  the  oppor- 
tunity of  speaking  to  somebody. 

“ So  I thought.  Where  are  you  boarding?” 

“ Nowhere,”  said  Sam. 

“ Where  do  you  sleep  to-night  ? ” 

“ I don’t  know,”  said  Sam,  rather  helplessly. 

“ Why  don’t  you  go  to  a hotel  ? ” 


THE  Y.OUNG  OUTLAW 


103 


“ They  charge  too  much,”  said  Sam. 

“ Haven’t  you  got  money  enough  to  pay  for 
a lodging  at  a hotel  ? ” asked  the  stranger,  with 
rather  less  interest  in  his  manner. 

“ Oh,  yes,”  said  Sam,  “ a good  deal  more  than 
that;  but  then,  I want  to  make  my  money  last  till 
I can  earn  something.” 

“To  be  sure,  to  be  sure,”  answered  the 
stranger,  his  interest  returning.  “ You  are  quite 
right,  my  dear  friend.  I am  glad  to  see  that  you 
are  so  sensible.  Of  course  you  ought  not  to  go 
to  a hotel.  They  charge  too  high  altogether.” 

“ But  I must  sleep  somewhere,”  said  Sam 
anxiously.  “ I only  got  to  New -York  this  morn- 
ing, and  I don’t  know  where  to  go.” 

“ Of  course,  of  course.  I thought  you  might 
be  in  trouble,  seeing  you  were  a stranger.  It’s 
lucky  you  met  me.” 

“ Can  you  tell  me  of  any  place  to  spend  the 
night?  ” asked  Sam,  encouraged  by  the  stranger’s 
manner. 

“Yes;  I’ll  let  you  stay  with  me,  and  it  shan’t 
cost  you  a cent.” 

“Thank  you,”  said  Sam,  congratulating  him- 


104 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


self  on  his  good  luck  in  meeting  so  benevolent  a 
man.  He  could  not  help  admitting  to  himself 
that  the  philanthropist  looked  shabby,  even  seedy. 
He  was  not  the  sort  of  man  from  whom  he  would 
have  expected  such  kindness,  but  that  made  no 
difference.  The  offer  was  evidently  a desirable 
one,  and  Sam  accepted  it  without  a moment’s 
hesitation. 

“I  remember  when  I came  to  the  city  myself,” 
explained  the  stranger.  “I  was  worse  off  than 
you,  for  I had  no  money  at  all.  A kind  man  gave 
me  a night’s  lodging,  just  as  I offer  one  to  you, 
and  I determined  that  I would  do  the  same  by 
others  when  I had  a chance.” 

“ You  are  very  kind,”  said  Sam. 

“ Perhaps  you  won’t  say  so  when  you  see  my 
room,”  said  the  other.  “ I am  not  a rich  man.” 
Glancing  at  the  man’s  attire,  Sam  found  no 
difficulty  in  believing  him.  Our  hero,  though  not 
very  observing,  was  not  prepossessed  in  favor  of 
the  New  York  tailors  by  what  he  saw,  for  the 
stranger’s  coat  was  very  long,  while  his  pants 
were  very  short,  and  his  vest  was  considerably 
too  large  for  him.  Instead  of  a collar  and  cravat. 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


105 


lie  wore  a ragged  silk  handkerchief  tied  around 
his  throat.  His  hat  was  crumpled  and  greasy, 
and  the  best  that  could  be  said  of  it  was,  that  it 
corresponded  with  the  rest  of  his  dress. 

“ I don’t  live  in  a very  nice  place,”  said  the 
stranger  ; “ but  perhaps  you  can  put  up  with  it 
for  one  night.” 

“ Oh,  I don’t  mind,”  said  Sam  hastily.  “ I 
ain’t  used  to  anything  very  nice.” 

“ Then  it’s  all  right,”  said  the  stranger. 
“ Such  as  it  is,  you  are  welcome.  Now,  I sup- 
pose you  are  tired.” 

“Yes,  I am,”  said  Sam. 

“ Then,  I’ll  take  you  to  my  room  at  once. 
We’ll  go  up  Center  Street.” 

Sam  cheerfully  followed  his  conductor.  He 
felt  like  a storm- tossed  mariner,  who  has  just 
found  port. 

“ What  is  your  name  ? ” asked  his  guide. 

“ Sam  Barker.” 

“ Mine  is  Clarence  Brown.” 

“Is  it?”  asked  Sam. 

He  could  not  help  thinking  the  name  too  fine 
for  a man  of  such  shabby  appearance,  and  yet  it 


106  THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 

would  be  hard;  when  names  are  so  cheap,  if  all  the 
best  ones  should  be  bestowed  on  the  wealthy. 

“ It’s  a good  name,  isn’t  it  ? ” asked  the 
stranger. 

“ Tiptop.” 

“ I belong  to  a good  family,  though  you 
wouldn’t  think  it  to  look  at  me  now,”  continued 
his  guide.  “ My  father  was  a wealthy  mer- 
chant.” 

“ Was  he  ? ” asked  Sam  curiously. 

“ Yes,  we  lived  in  a splendid  mansion,  and  kept 
plenty  of  servants.  I was  sent  to  an  expensive 
school,  and  I did  not  dream  of  coming  to  this.” 

Mr.  Brown  wiped  his  eyes  with  his  coat- 
sleeves,  as  he  thus  revived  the  memories  of  his 
early  opulence. 

“ Did  you  father  lose  his  money?  ” asked  Sam, 
getting  interested. 

“ He  did,  indeed,”  said  the  stranger,  with  emo- 
tion. “ It  was  in  the  panic  of  1837.  Did  you 
ever  hear  of  it?  ” 

“ I guess  not,”  said  Sam,  who  was  not  very 
conversant  with  the  financial  history  of  the 
country. 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


107 


“ My  father  became  a bankrupt,  and  soon  after 
died  of  grief,”  continued  the  stranger.  “ I was 
called  back  from  boarding  school,  and  thrown 
upon  the  cold  mercies  of  the  world.” 

“ That  was  hard  on  you,”  said  Sam. 

“ It  was,  indeed,  my  young  friend.  I perceive 
that  you  have  a sympathetic  heart.  You  can  feel 
for  the  woes  of  others.” 

“ Yes,”  said  Sam,  concluding  that  such  an  an- 
swer was  expected. 

“ I am  glad  I befriended  you.  Have  you  also 
seen  better  days?  ” 

“ Well,  I don’t  know,”  said  Sam.  “ It’s  been 
pleasant  enough  to-day.” 

“I  don’t  mean  that.  I mean,  were-  you  ever 
rich?” 

“ Not  that  I can  remember,”  said  Sam. 

“ Then  you  don’t  know  what  it  is  to  be  reduced 
from  affluence  to  poverty.  It  is  a bitter  experi- 
ence.” 

“I  should  think  so,”  said  Sam,  who  felt  a little 
tired  of  Clarence  Brown’s  reminiscences,  and 
wondered  how  soon  they  would  reach  that  gen- 
tleman’s house. 


io8  THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 

Meanwhile,  they  had  gone  up  Center  Street, 
and  turned  into  Leonard  Street.  It  was  not  an 
attractive  locality,  nor  were  the  odors  that  reached 
Sam’s  nose  very  savory. 

“ This  is  where  I live,”  said  Mr.  Brown,  paus- 
ing before  a large  dilapidated-looking  tenement 
house  of  discolored  brick. 

“ You  don’t  live  here  alone,  do  you?  ” inquired 
Sam,  who  was  not  used  to  crowded  tenement 
houses. 

“ Oh,  no,  I only  occupy  an  humble  room  up- 
stairs. Follow  me,  and  I’ll  lead  you  to  it.” 

The  staircase  was  dirty,  and  in  keeping  with 
the  external  appearance  of  the  house.  The  wall 
paper  was  tom  off  in  places,  and  contrasted  very 
unfavorably  with  the  neat  house  of  Deacon  Hop- 
kins. Sam  noticed  this,  but  he  was  tired  and 
sleepy,  and  was  not  disposed  to  be  over-critical, 
as  he  followed  Mr.  Brown  in  silence  to  the  fourth 
floor. 


CHAPTER  XIII 


ROBBED  IN  HIS  SLEEP 

Arrived  at  his  destination,  Mr.  Brown  opened 
a door  and  bade  Sam  enter.  It  was  rather  dark, 
and  it  was  not  until  his  host  lighted  a candle  that 
Sam  could  obtain  an  idea  of  the  appearance  of 
the  room.  The  ceiling  was  low,  ano  the  furni- 
ture scanty.  A couple  of  chairs,  a small  table, 
of  which  the  paint  was  worn  off  in  spots,  and  a 
bed  in  the  corner,  were  the  complete  outfit  of  Mr. 
Brown’s  home.  He  set  the  candle  on  the  table, 
and  remarked  apologetically : “ I don’t  live  in 
much  style,  as  you  see.  The  fact  is,  I am  at  pres- 
ent in  straitened  circumstances.  When  my  uncle 
dies  I shall  inherit  a fortune.  Then,  when  you 
come  to  see  me,  I will  entertain  you  handsomely.” 
“ Is  your  uncle  rich  ? ” asked  Sam. 

“ I should  say  he  was.  He’s  a millionaire.” 

“ Why  don’t  he  do  something  for  you  now  ? ” 
Mr.  Clarence  Brown  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

109 


no 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


“ He’s  a very  peculiar  man — wants  to  keep 
every  cent  as  long  as  he  lives.  When  he’s  dead 
it’s  got  to  go  to  his  heirs.  That’s  why  he  lives 
in  a palatial  mansion  on  Madison  Avenue,  while 
I,  his  nephew,  occupy  a shabby  apartment  like 
this.” 

Sam  looked  about  him,  and  mentally  admitted 
the  justice  of  the  term.  It  was  a shabby  apart- 
ment, without  question.  Still,  he  was  to  lodge 
there  gratis,  and  it  was  not  for  him  to  com- 
plain. 

“ By  the  way,”  said  Mr.  Brown  casually,  after 
exploring  his  pockets  apparently  without  success, 
“ you  haven’t  got  a quarter,  have  you  ? ” 

“ Yes,  I guess  so.” 

“ All  right;  I’ll  borrow  it  till  to-morrow,  if  you 
don’t  mind.” 

“ Certainly,”  said  Sam,  handing  over  the  sum 
desired. 

“ I’ll  go  out  and  get  some  whisky.  My  sys- 
tem requires  it.  You  won’t  mind  being  left  alone 
for  five  minutes.” 

“Oh,  no.” 

“ Very  good.  I won’t  stay  long.” 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


hi 


Mr.  Brown  went  out,  and  our  hero  sat  down 
on  the  bed  to  wait  for  him. 

“ So  this  is  my  first  night  in  the  city,”  he 
thought.  “ I expected  they  had  better  houses. 
This  room  isn’t  half  so  nice  as  I had  at  the  dea- 
con’s. But  then,  I haven’t  got  to  hoe  potatoes. 
I guess  I’ll  like  it  when  I get  used  to  it.  There 
isn’t  anybody  to  order  me  around  here.” 

Presently  Mr.  Brown  came  back.  He  had  a 
bottle  partially  full  of  whisky  with  him. 

“ Sorry  to  keep  you  waiting,”  he  said. 
“Were  you  lonely?” 

“ Oh,  no.” 

“ I’ve  got  a couple  of  glasses  here  somewhere. 
Oh,  here  they  are.  Now  we’ll  see  how  it  tastes.” 
, “ Not  much  for  me,”  said  Sam.  “ I don’t 
think  I’d  like  it.” 

“ It’ll  be  good  for  your  stomach.  However,  I 
won’t  give  you  much.” 

He  poured  out  a little  in  one  tumbler  for  Sam, 
and  a considerably  larger  amount  for  himself. 

“Your  health,”  he  said,  nodding. 

“ Thank  you,”  said  Sam. 

Sam  tasted  the  whisky,  but  the  taste  did  not 


II 2 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


please  him.  He  set  down  the  glass,  but  his  host 
drained  his  at  a draught. 

“ Don’t  you  like  it  ? ” asked  Brown. 

“ Not  very  much.” 

“ Don’t  you  care  to  drink  it  ? ” 

“ I guess  not.” 

“ It’s  a pity  it  should  be  wasted.” 

To  prevent  this,  Mr.  Brown  emptied  Sam’s 
glass  also. 

“ Now,  if  you  are  not  sleepy,  we  might  have  a 
game  of  cards,”  suggested  Brown. 

“ I think  I’d  rather  go  to  bed,”  said  Sam  yawn- 
ing. 

“ All  right ! Go  to  bed  any  time.  I dare  say 
you  are  tired.  Do  you  go  to  sleep  easily  ? ” 

“ In  a jiffy.” 

“ Then  you  won’t  mind  my  absence.  I’ve  got 
to  make  a call  on  a sick  friend,  but  I shan’t  be  out 
late.  Just  make  yourself  at  home,  go  to  sleep, 
and  you’ll  see  me  in  the  morning.” 

“ Thank  you,  sir.” 

“ Don’t  bolt  the  door,  as  I don’t  want  to  wake 
you  up  when  I come  in.” 

“ All  right.” 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


”3 

Again  Mr.  Brown  went  out,  and  Sam  got 
undressed  and  got  into  bed.  It  was  not  very 
comfortable,  and  the  solitary  sheet  looked  as  if 
it  had  not  been  changed  for  three  months  or  more’. 
However,  Sam  was  not  fastidious,  and  he  was 
sleepy.  So  he  closed  his  eyes,  and  was  soon  in 
the  land  of  dreams. 

It  was  about  two  hours  afterward  that  Clar- 
ence Brown  entered  the  room.  He  walked  on 
tiptoe  to  the  bed,  and  looked  at  Sam. 

“ He’s  fast  asleep,”  he  said  to  himself.  “ Did 
he  undress?  Oh,  yes,  here  are  his  clothes.  I'll 
take  the  liberty  of  examining  his  pockets,  to  see 
whether  my  trouble  is  likely  to  be  rewarded.” 

Brown  explored  one  pocket  after  the  other. 
He  found  no  pocketbook,  for  Sam  did  not  pos- 
sess any.  In  fact,  he  had  never  felt  the  need  of 
one  until  he  appropriated  the  deacon’s  money. 
The  balance  of  this  was  in  his  vest  pocket. 

“ Six  dollars  and  ten  cents,”  said  Brown,  after 
counting  it.  “ It  isn’t  much  of  a haul,  that’s  a 
fact.  I thought  he  had  twice  as  much,  at  least. 
Still,”  he  added  philosophically,  “ it’s  better  than 
nothing.  I shall  find  a use  for  it  without  doubt.” 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


114 

He  tucked  the  money  away  in  his  own  pocket, 
and  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  bedstead  in  medita- 
tion. 

“ I may  as  well  go  to  bed,”  he  reflected.  “ He 
won’t  find  out  his  loss  in  the  night,  and  in  the 
morning  I can  be  off  before  he  is  up.  Even  if 
I oversleep  myself,  I can  brazen  it  out.  He’s  only 
a green  country  boy.  Probably  he  won’t  suspect 
me,  and  if  he  does,  he  can  prove  nothing.” 

He  did  not  undress,  but  lay  down  on  the  bed, 
dressed  as  he  was.  He,  too,  was  soon  asleep,  and 
Sam,  unconscious  of  his  loss,  slept  on.  So  the 
money  was  doubly  stolen,  and  the  first  thief  suf- 
fered at  the  hands  of  a more  experienced  thief. 

The  sun  had  been  up  nearly  three  hours  the 
next  morning  before  Clarence  Brown  awoke. 
As  he  opened  his  eyes,  his  glance  fell  on  Sam  still 
asleep,  and  the  events  of  the  evening  previous 
came  to  his  mind. 

“ I must  be  up,  and  out  of  this,”  he  thought, 
“ before  the  young  greenhorn  wakes  up.” 

Being  already  dressed,  with  the  exception  of 
his  coat,  he  had  little  to  do  beyond  rising.  He 
crept  out  of  the  room  on  tiptoe,  and,  making  his 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


ii5 

way  to  a restaurant  at  a safe  distance,  sat  down 
and  ordered  a good  breakfast  at  Sam’s  ex- 
pense. 

Meanwhile,  Sam  slept  on  for  half  an  hour 
more. 

Finally  he  opened  his  eyes,  and,  oblivious  of 
his  changed  circumstances,  was  surprised  that  he 
had  not  been  called  earlier.  But  a single  glance 
about  the  shabby  room  recalled  to  his  memory 
that  he  was  now  beyond  the  deacon’s  jurisdic- 
tion. 

“ I am  in  New  York,”  he  reflected,  with  a thrill 
of  joy.  “ But  where  is  Mr.  Brown?  ” 

He  looked  in  vain  for  his  companion,  but  no 
suspicion  was  excited  in  his  mind. 

“ He  didn’t  want  to  wake  me  up,”  he  thought. 
“ 1 suppose  he  has  gone  to  his  business.” 

He  stretched  himself,  and  lay  a little  longer. 
It  was  a pleasant  thought  that  there  was  no  stern 
taskmaster  to  force  him  up.  He  might  lie  as 
long  as  he  wanted  to — till  noon,  if  he  chose. 
Perhaps  he  might  have  chosen,  but  the  claims  of 
a healthy  appetite  asserted  themselves,  and  Sam 
sprang  out  of  bed. 


Ii6  THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 

“ I’ll  have  a good  breakfast,”  he  said  to  himself, 
“ and  then  I must  look  around  and  see  if  I can’t 
find  something  to  do;  my  money  will  soon  be 
out.” 

It  was  natural  that  he  should  have  felt  for  his 
money  at  that  moment,  but  he  did  not.  No  sus- 
picion of  Mr.  Brown’s  dishonesty  had  entered  his 
mind.  You  see,  Sam  was  very  unsophisticated 
at  that  time,  and,  though  he  had  himself  com- 
mitted a theft,  he  did  not  suspect  the  honesty  of 
others. 

“ I suppose  I shall  have  to  go  without  thanking 
Mr.  Brown,  as  he  don’t  seem  to  be  here,”  he  re- 
flected. “ Perhaps  I shall  see  him  somewhere 
about  the  streets.  I’ve  saved  a dollar,  anyway,  or 
at  least  seventy-five  cents,”  he  added,  thinking  of 
the  quarter  he  had  lent  his  hospitable  entertainer 
the  evening  before.  “ Perhaps  he’ll  let  me  sleep 
here  again  to-night.  It’ll  be  a help  to  me,  as 
long  as  I haven’t  got  anything  to  do  yet.” 

Still  Sam  did  not  feel  for  his  money,  and  was 
happily  unconscious  of  his  loss.  Pie  opened  his 
door,  and  found  his  way  down  stairs  into  the 
street  without  difficulty.  The  halls  and  staircases 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW  u 7 

looked  even  more  dingy  and  shabby  in  the  day- 
time than  they  had  done  in  the  evening.  “ It 
isn’t  a very  nice  place  to  live,”  thought  Sam. 
“ However,  I suppose  Mr.  Brown  will  be  rich 
when  his  uncle  dies.  I wish  he  was  rich  now; 
he  might  give  me  a place.” 

“ Shine  yer  boots  ? ” asked  a small  knight  of 
the  brush. 

“ No,”  said  Sam,  who  had  grown  economical; 
“ they  don’t  need  it.” 

He  walked  on  for  five  minutes  or  more.  Pres- 
ently he  came  to  an  eating  house.  He  knew  it 
by  the  printed  bills  of  fare  which  were  placarded 
outside. 

“ Now,  I’ll  have  some  breakfast,”  he  thought, 
with  satisfaction,  and  he  entered  confidently. 


CHAPTER  XIV 


bounced! 

Sam  sat  down  at  a table,  and  took  up  the  bill 
of  fare.  A colored  waiter  stood  by,  and  awaited 
his  orders. 

“ Bring  me  a plate  of  beefsteak,  a cup  of  coffee, 
and  some  tea  biscuit,”  said  Sam,  with  the  air  of  a 
man  of  fortune. 

“ All  right,  sir,”  said  the  waiter. 

“ After  all,  it’s  pleasant  living  in  New  York,” 
thought  Sam,  as  he  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  and 
awaited  in  pleasant  anticipation  the  fulfillment  of 
his  order.  “ It’s  different  from  livin’  at  the 
deacon’s.  Here  a feller  can  be  independent.” 

“ As  long  as  he  has  money,”  Sam  should  have 
added;  but,  like  some  business  men,  he  was  not 
aware  of  his  present  insolvency.  Ignorance  is 
bliss,  sometimes;  and  it  is  doubtful  whether  our 
hero  would  have  eaten  his  breakfast  with  as  good 
a relish  when  it  came,  if  he  had  known  that  he 
had  not  a cent  in  his  pocket. 

118 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW  119 

Sam  was  soon  served,  and  he  soon  made  away 
with  the  articles  he  had  ordered.  You  can’t  get 
a very  liberal  supply  of  beefsteak  for  fifteen  cents, 
which  was  what  Sam  was  charged  for  his  meat. 
He  felt  hungry  still,  after  he  had  eaten  what  was 
set  before  him.  So  he  took  the  bill  of  fare  once 
more,  and  pored  over  its  well-filled  columns. 

“ They  must  have  a tremendous  big  kitchen 
to  cook  so  many  things,”  he  thought.  “ Why, 
there  are  as  many  as  a hundred.  Let  me  see — ■ 
here’s  buckwheat  cakes,  ten  cents.  I guess  I’ll 
have  some.” 

“Anything  more,  sir?”  asked  the  waiter,  ap- 
proaching to  clear  away  the  dirty  dishes. 

“ Buckwheat  cakes,  and  another  cup  of  coffee,” 
ordered  Sam. 

“ All  right,  sir.” 

“They  treat  me  respectful  here,”  thought  Sam. 
“ What  would  the  deacon  say  to  hear  me  called 
sir?  I like  it.  Folks  have  better  manners  in 
the  city  than  in  the  country.” 

This  was  rather  a hasty  conclusion  on  the  part 
of  Sam,  and  it  was  not  long  before  he  had  occa- 
sion enough  to  change  his  mind. 


120 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


He  ate  the  buckwheat  cakes  with  a relish,  an4 
felt  tolerably  satisfied. 

“ Anything  more,  sir  ? ” asked  the  waiter. 

Sam  was  about  to  say  no,  when  his  eye  rested 
on  that  portion  of  the  bill  devoted  to  pastry,  and 
he  changed  his  mind. 

“ Bring  me  a piece  of  mince  pie,”  he  said. 

Sam  was  sensible  that  he  was  ordering  break- 
fast beyond  his  means,  but  he  vaguely  resolved 
that  he  would  content  himself  with  a small  din- 
ner. He  really  could  not  resist  the  temptation 
of  the  pie. 

At  last  it  was  eaten,  and  the  waiter  brought 
him  a ticket,  bearing  the  price  of  his  breakfast, 
fifty  cents.  Now,  for  the  first  time,  he  felt  in 
his  vest  pocket  for  his  money.  He  felt  in  vain. 
Still  he  did  not  suspect  his  loss. 

“ I thought  I put  it  in  my  vest  pocket,”  he  said 
to  himself.  “ I guess  I made  a mistake,  and  put 
it  in  some  other.” 

He  felt  in  another  pocket,  and  still  another,  till 
he  had  explored  every  pocket  he  possessed,  and 
still  no  money. 

Sam  turned  pale,  and  his  heart  gave  a sudden 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


121 


thump,  as  the  extent  of  his  misfortune  dawned 
upon  him.  It  was  not  alone  that  he  was  without 
money  in  a strange  city,  but  he  had  eaten  rather 
a hearty  breakfast,  which  he  was  unable  to  pay 

for. 

What  would  they  think  of  him  ? What 
would  they  do  to  him?  He  saw  it  all  now. 
That  specious  stranger,  Clarence  Brown,  had 
robbed  him  in  his  sleep.  That  was  why  he  had 
invited  him  to  spend  the  night  in  his  room  with- 
out charge.  That  was  why  he  had  got  up  so 
early  and  stolen  out  without  his  knowledge,  after 
he  had  purloined  all  his  money. 

Sam  was  not  particularly  bashful;  but  he  cer- 
tainly felt  something  like  it,  as  he  walked  up  to 
the  cashier’s  desk.  A man  stood  behind  it,  rather 
stout,  and  on  the  whole  not  benevolent  in  his 
looks.  There  was  no  softness  about  his  keen 
business  face.  Sam  inferred  with  a sinking  heart 
that  he  was  not  a man  likely  to  sympathize  with 
him  in  his  misfortunes,  or  seem  to  give  credence 
to  them. 

Sam  stood  at  the  counter  waiting  while  the 
proprietor  was  making  change  for  another  cus- 


122 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


tomer.  He  was  considering  what  he  could  best 
say  to  propitiate  his  creditor. 

“ Now,  then,”  said  the  man  behind  the  counter, 
a little  impatiently,  for  another  had  come  up  be- 
hind Sam,  “ where’s  your  ticket  ? ” 

“ Here,  sir,”  said  Sam,  laying  it  on  the  counter. 

“ Fifty  cents.  Pay  quick,  and  don’t  keep  me 
waiting.” 

“ I am  very  sorry,  sir,”  Sam  began,  faltering, 
“ but ” 

“ But  what ! ” exclaimed  the  proprietor,  with 
an  ominous  scowl. 

“ I can’t  pay  you  now.” 

“ Can’t  pay  me  now ! ” repeated  the  other, 
angrily;  “ what  do  you  mean?  ” 

“I’ve  lost  my  money,”  said  Sam,  feeling  more 
and  more  uncomfortable. 

By  this  time  the  patience  of  the  restaurant- 
keeper  was  quite  gone. 

“ What  business  had  you  to  come  in  here  and 
order  an  expensive  breakfast  when  vou  had  no 
money?  ” he  demanded  furiously. 

“ I thought  I had  some  money,”  said  Sam,  fer- 
vently wishing  himself  back  at  Deacon  Hopkins’’ 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


123 


for  the  first  time  since  his  arrival  in  the 
city, 

“ How  could  you  think  you  had  some  when 
you  hadn’t  any?  ” 

“I  had  some  last  night,”  said  Sam  eagerly, 
“ but  I slept  in  Mr.  Brown’s  room,  and  he  must 
have  robbed  me  in  the  night.” 

“ That’s  a likely  story ! ” sneered  the  proprie- 
tor. “What  do  you  think  of  it,  Mr.  Jones?” 
he  asked,  turning  to  a customer,  whom  he  knew 
by  name; 

Mr.  Jones  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

“Too  thin!”  he  replied  briefly. 

“ Of  course  it  is,”  said  the  proprietor  angrily. 
“ This  boy  is  evidently  a beat.” 

“A  what?”  inquired  Sam,  who  had  not  been 
in  the  city  long  enough  to  understand  the  mean- 
ing of  the  term. 

“ A dead  beat  ; but  you  don’t  play  any  of  your 
games  on  me,  young  man.  I’ve  cut  my  eye-teeth, 
I have.  You  don’t  swindle  me  out  of  a fifty-cent 
breakfast  quite  so  easily.  Here,  John,  call  a 
policeman.” 

“ Oh,  don’t  call  a policeman ! ” exclaimed  Sam, 


124 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


terror-stricken.  “ It’s  true,  every  word  I’ve  told 
you.,  I’m  from  the  country.  I only  got  to  the 
city  yesterday,  and  I’ve  been  robbed  of  all  my 
'money,  over  six  dollars.  I hope  you’ll  believe 
me.” 

“ I don’t  believe  a word  you  say,”  said  the 
restaurant-keeper  harshly.  “ You  are  trying  to 
come  it  over  me.  I dare  say  you’ve  been  around 
the  streets  half  your  life.” 

“ I think  you  are  wrong,  Mr.  Chucks,”  said 
another  customer,  who  was  waiting  to  pay  his 
bill.  “ He’s  got  a country  look  about  him.  He 
don’t  look  like  one  of  the  regular  street  boys. 
Better  let  him  go.  I wouldn’t  call  a policeman.” 
“ I ought  to,”  grumbled  the  proprietor. 
“ Fancy  his  impudence  in  ordering  a fifty-cent 
breakfast,  when  he  hadn’t  a cent  to  pay  his  bill.” 
“ I wouldn’t  have  come  in  if  I had  known,” 
said  Sam. 

“ Don’t  tell  me,”  said  the  man  sharply,  “ for  I 
don’t  believe  it.  Do  you  think  I can  afford  to 
give  you  breakfast  for  nothing  ? ” 

“ I’ll  pay  you  as  soon  as  I get  some  money,” 
said  Sam.  “ Only  don’t  send  me  to  prison.” 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


125 


“I  won’t  give  you  in  charge  this  time,  though 
I ought  to;  but  I’ll  give  you  something  to  settle 
your  breakfast.  Here,  Peter,  you  waited  on  this 
young  man,  didn’t  you?” 

“Yes,  sir.” 

“ He  hasn’t  paid  for  his  breakfast,  and  pre- 
tends he  hasn’t  got  any  money.  Bounce  him ! ” 

If  Sam  was  ignorant  of  the  meaning  of  the 
word  “ bounce  ” he  was  soon  enlightened.  The 
waiter  seized  him  by  the  collar,  before  he  knew 
what  was  going  to  happen,  pushed  him  to  the 
door,  and  then,  lifting  his  foot,  by  a well-directed 
kick,  landed  him  across  the  sidewalk  into  the 
street. 

This  proceeding  was  followed  by  derisive 
laughter  from  the  other  waiters  who  had  gath- 
ered near  the  door,  and  it  was  echoed  by  two 
street  urchins  outside,  who  witnessed  Sam’s 
ignominous  exit  from  the  restaurant. 

Sam  staggered  from  the  force  of  the  bouncing, 
and  felt  disgraced  and  humiliated  to  think  that 
the  waiter  who  had  been  so  respectful  and  atten- 
tive should  have  inflicted  upon  him  such  an  indig- 
nity, which  he  had  no  power  to  resent. 


126 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


“I  wish  I was  back  at  the  deacon’s,”  he 
thought  bitterly. 

“ How  do  you  feel  ? ” asked  one  of  the  boys 
who  had  witnessed  Sam’s  humiliation,  not  sym- 
pathetically, but  in  a tone  of  mockery. 

“ None  of  your  business ! ” retorted  Sam. 

“ He  feels  bad,  Mickey,”  said  the  other. 
“ He’s  heard  bad  news,  and  that’s  what  made  him 
in  such  a hurry.” 

Here  both  boys  laughed,  and  Sam  retorted 
angrily:  “I’ll  make  you  feel  bad,  if  you  ain’t' 
careful.” 

“ Hear  him  talk,  Mickey — ain’t  he  smart  ? ” 

“ I’ll  make  you  both  smart,”  said  Sam,  begin- 
ning to  roll  up  his  sleeves ; for  he  was  no  coward, 
and  the  boys  were  only  about  his  own  size. 

“ He  wants  to  bounce  us,  like  he  was  bounced 
himself,”  said  Pat  Riley.  “ How  did  it  feel, 
Johnny?  ” 

Sam  gave  chase,  but  his  tormentors  were  better 
acquainted  with  the  city  than  he,  and  he  did  not 
succeed  in  catching  them.  Finally  he  gave  it  up, 
and,  sitting  down  on  a convenient  doorstep,  gave 
himself  up  to  melancholy  reflections. 


CHAPTER  XV 


ANY  WAY  TO  MAKE  A LIVING 

Boys  who  have  a good  home  are  apt  to  under- 
value it.  They  do  not  realize  the  comfort  of 
having  their  daily  wants  provided  for  without 
any  anxiety  on  their  part.  They  are  apt  to  fancy 
that  they  would  like  to  go  out  into  the  great 
world  to  seek  their  fortunes.  Sometimes  it  may 
be  necessary  and  expedient  to  leave  the  safe 
anchorage  of  home,  and  brave  the  dangers  of  the 
unknown  sea;  but  no  boy  should  do  this  without 
his  parents’  consent,  nor  then,  without  making 
up  his  mind  that  he  will  need  all  his  courage  and 
all  his  resolution  to  obtain  success. 

Sam  found  himself  penniless  in  a great  city, 
and  with  no  way  open,  that  he  could  think  of,  to 
earn  money.  Even  the  business  of  the  bootblack, 
humble  as  it  is,  required  a small  capital  to  buy 
a brush  and  box  of  blacking.  So,  too,  a newsboy 
must  pay  for  his  papers  when  he  gets  them,  un- 
127 


128 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


less  he  is  well  known.  So  Sam,  sitting  on  the 
doorstep,  felt  that  he  was  in  a tight  place. 
Where  was  he  to  get  his  dinner  from?  He  did 
not  care  to  repeat  his  operation  of  the  morning, 
for  it  was  not  pleasant  to  be  “ bounced.” 

“ I wonder  if  I couldn’t  get  a chance  in  a 
store,”  he  thought.  “ That  wouldn’t  need  any 
money.  There  seems  to  be  a lot  of  stores  in  the 
city.  I guess  there  must  be  a place  for  me  some- 
where.” 

This  thought  encouraged  Sam.  He  arose 
from  his  lowly  seat,  and  determined  to  look  about 
for  a place.  Presently  he  came  to  a real  estate 
office.  Sam  did  not  understand  very  well  what 
kind  of  a business  that  was,  but  on  the  window 
a piece  of  paper  was  pasted,  on  which  was  written 
“ A Boy  Wanted.” 

“ I guess  I’ll  go  in,”  thought  Sam.  “ Maybe 
they’ll  take  me.” 

There  were  three  boys  ahead  of  him;  but  they 
were  not  very  eligible-looking  specimens.  So 
they  were  dismissed  with  small  ceremony,  and 
Sam  was  beckoned  to  the  desk. 

“ I suppose  you  have  come  about  the  place,” 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW  129 

said  a man  with  black  whiskers,  and  a pen  be- 
hind his  ear. 

“ Yes,”  answered  Sam. 

“ How  old  are  you  ? ” 

“ Twelve.” 

“ Rather  young.  Still  you  are  large  of 
your  age.” 

“ I am  pretty  strong,”  said  Sam,  anxious  to 
succeed  in  his  application. 

“ There  isn’t  any  work  to  be  done  that  requires 
strength,”  said  the  black-whiskered  man.  “ How 
is  your  education  ? ” 

“ Pretty  good,”  said  Sam,  with  hesitation. 

“Do  you  live  in  the  city?” 

“'Yes,  sir.” 

“ With  your  parents  ? ” 

“ No,  sir.  They  are  dead.” 

“ Thad  is  an  objection.  Perhaps,  however, 
you  live  with  an  aunt  or  uncle.  That  will  an- 
swer as  well.” 

“ Yes,”  said  Sam,  determined  to  obviate  tins 
objection.  “ I live  with  my  uncle.” 

“ Where  does  he  live?  ” 

“ In  New  York,”  answered  Sam. 


13° 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


“ Don’t  you  understand  me  ? I mean  to  ask 
the  street  and  number.” 

Sam  was  posed.  He  could  not  at  the  moment 
think  of  the  name  of  any  street  except  Broadway. 
But  it  would  not  do  to  hesitate.  So  he 
said  promptly,  “ He  lives  at  No.  656  Broad- 
way.” 

“ What  is  his  business  ? ” inquired  the  black- 
whiskered  man. 

“ He  keeps  a store,”  answered  Sam,  feeling 
that  he  was  getting  deeper  and  deeper  into  the 
mire. 

“ What  sort  of  a store  ? ” 

“ A grocery  store.” 

“What,  at  656  Broadway?”  demanded  the 
other,  in  surprise.  “ I didn’t  know  there  was  a 
grocery  store  in  that  neighborhood.” 

“ Oh,  murder ! ” thought  Sam.  “ I’m  found 
out.” 

He  made  no  answer  because  he  could  not  think 
of  any. 

“ Why  don’t  your  uncle  give  you  a place  in  his 
own  store  ? ” asked  the  real  estate  agent,  with 
some  suspicion  in  his  tone. 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW  13 1 

“ He’s  got  all  the  help  he  wants,”  said  Sam 
quickly. 

Here  another  boy  entered  the  office,  a boy 
neatly  dressed  and  intelligent  in  appearance. 

“ Sit  down  a moment,”  said  the  agent  to  Sam, 
“ while  I speak  to  this  other  lad.” 

Sam  took  a seat,  and  listened  to  the  conversa- 
tion with  the  other  boy.  The  conclusion  of  the 
matter  was  that  the  other  boy  was  engaged  and 
Sam  was  obliged  to  go  out  to  offer  his  services 
in  some  other  quarter. 

“ What  a lot  of  lies  I had  to  tell ! ” he  reflected. 
“ What’s  the  use  of  their  asking  so  many  ques- 
tions? I don’t  see.  I’ll  have  to  try  somewhere 
else.” 

As  Sam  was  sauntering  along  he  was  accosted 
by  a tall  man,  evidently  from  the  country. 

“ Boy,  can  you  direct  me  to  the  ‘ Tribune  ’ 
office?” 

“ Yes,  sir,”  said  Sam,  “ but  it’s  some  ways 
from  here.  It’ll  be  worth  ten  cents  to  lead  you 
there.” 

The  gentleman  hesitated. 

“ Well,”  he  said,  “ I’ll  give  it  to  you.” 


132 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


“ Will  you  give  it  to  me  now  ? ” asked 
Sam. 

“ I will  pay  you  when  you  have  done  your 
work.” 

“ The  reason  I asked  was,  because  I showed  a 
man  the  other  day,  and  then  he  wouldn’t  pay 
me.” 

“ That  was  mean,”  said  the  stranger.-  “ I 
hope  you  don’t  think  I would  serve  you  so.” 

“ Oh,  no,  sir.  You’re  a gentleman,”  said 
Sam.  “ You  wouldn’t  cheat  a poor  boy  that 
hasn’t  had  any  breakfast  this  mornin’.” 

“Dear  me!  You  don’t  say  so?”  ejaculated 
the  compassionate  stranger,  shocked  at  Sam’s 
fiction.  “ Here,  'take  this  twenty-five  cents. 
Do  you  often  have  to  go  without  your  break- 
fast?” 

“ Often,  sir,”  said  Sam  unblushingly.  “ It’s 
hard  times  for  poor  boys  like  me.” 

“ There’s  another  quarter,”  said  the  stranger, 
his  compassion  still  more  deeply  moved. 

Sam  did  feel  some  compunction  now,  for  he 
was  about  to  make  a very  poor  return  for  the 
• kindness  of  his  new  acquaintance.  The  fact  was. 


-THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


133 


he  had  not  the  slightest  idea  where  the  ‘ Tribune  ’ 
office  was,  and  he  had  therefore  undertaken  what 
he  was  unable  to  perform.  But  he  had  gone  too 
far  to  recede.  Besides,  he  did  not  feel  prepared 
to  give  up  the  money  which  he  had  obtained 
through  false  pretenses.  So  counterfeiting  a con- 
fidence which  he  did  not  feel,  he  led  the  way  up 
Center  Street,  saying:  “This  way,  sir.  _ I’ll  lead 
you  right  to  the  office.” 

“ I never  was  at  the  office,”  said  the  stranger, 
“ though  I’ve  been  a subscriber  to  the  ‘ Weekly 
Tribune  ’ for  ten  years.” 

“ That’s  a good  while,”  said  Sam. 

“ It  is  indeed,  my  boy.  I live  in  Illinois,  mere 
than  a thousand  miles  from  this  city.  Indeed, 
I have  never  been  in  New  York  before.” 

“ Haven’t  you?  ” 

“No;  now  you,  I suppose,  my  young  friend, 
know  your  way  all  about  the  city  ? ” 

“ Of  course  I do,”  said  Sam,  in  an  off-hand 

manner. 

“ If  I had  more  time,  I would  get  you  to  guide 
me  around  the  city,”  said  the  stranger. 

“ Wouldn’t  I lead  you  a wild-goose  chase,  old 


134 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


gentleman  ? ” thought  Sam.  “You’d  be  pretty 
well  taken  in,  I guess.” 

“ I’m  obliged  to  go  away  to-night,”  continued 
the  old  gentleman,  “ but  I thought  I would  renew 
my  subscription  to  the  ‘ Tribune  ’ before  I left 
town.” 

“ All  right,  sir  ; it’s  a nice  paper,”  said  Sam, 
who  had  never  read  a line  in  the  “ Tribune.” 

“So  I think.  Are  we  almost  at  the  office?” 
“ Almost,”  said  Sam.  “ If  you  don’t  mind 
waiting,  I’ll  run  over  and  speak  to  my  cousin  a 
minute.” 

There  was  a bootblack  on  the  opposite  side  of 
the  street.  It  struck  Sam,  who  did  not  like  to 
deceive  so  generous  a patron,  that  he  could  obtain 
the  information  he  needed  of  this  boy. 

“ Can  you  tell  me  where  the  ‘ Tribune  ’ office 
is  ? ” he  asked  hurriedly. 

The  bootblack  had  no  more  scruples  about  lying 
than  Sam,  and  answered  glibly,  pointing  to  the 
Tombs  prison,  a little  farther  on,  “ Do  you  see 
that  big  stone  buildin’  ? ” 

“ Yes,”  said  Sam. 

“ That’s  it.” 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


135 


“ Thank  you,”  said  Sam,  feeling  relieved,  and 
never  doubting  the  correctness  of  this  statement. 

He  returned  to  the  stranger,  and  said  cheer- 
fully : “ We’re  almost  there.” 

“ Is  that  boy  your  cousin  ? ” asked  his  acquaint- 
ance. 

“ Yes,”  said  Sam. 

“ He  blacks  boots  for  a living?  ” 

“Yes,  sir.” 

“ Does  he  do  well  at  it  ? ” 

“ Pretty  well.” 

“ Did  you  ever  black  boots  ? ” 

“ No,  sir,”  answered  Sam,  telling  the  truth  by 
way  of  variety. 

“ That’s  the  f Tribune  ’ office,”  said  Sam  a mo- 
ment later,  pointing  to  the  gloomy-looking  prison. 

“ Is  it  ? ” echoed  the  stranger  in  surprise. 
“ Really,  it’s  a very  massive  structure.” 

“ Yes,”  said  Sam,  mistaking  the  word  em- 
ployed, “ it’s  very  massy.” 

“ It  doesn’t  look  much  like  a newspaper  office.” 
For  the  first  time  Sam  began  to  suspect  that  he 
had  been  deceived,  and  he  naturally  felt  in  a 
hurry  to  get  away. 


136  THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 

“ You  go  right  in,”  he  said  confidently,  “ and 
they’ll  attend  to  you  inside.  Now  I’ll  go  and 
get  some  breakfast.” 

“ To  be  sure.  You  must  be  hungry.” 

The  stranger  walked  up  the  massive  steps,  and 
Sam  hurried  away. 

“ I wonder  what  place  that  is,  anyhow,”  he 
said  to  himself.  “ Now  I’ve  got  enough  money 
for  dinner.” 

For  a country  boy,  Sam  was  getting  along  fast.' 


CHAPTER  XVI 


SAM  MEETS  BROWN  AND  IS  UNHAPPY 

Never  doubting  Sam’s  assurance,  the  stranger 
entered  the  gloomy  building.  A man  came  out 
of  the  corridor  and  he  accosted  him  with  the 
question : 

“ Where  is  the  counting-room  ? ” 

“ The  counting-room ! ” repeated  the  man 
staring.  “ There  isn’t  any  here  that  I know  of.” 
“ I want  to  subscribe  for  the  weekly  edition,” 
explained  the  man  from  Illinois. 

“ It  strikes  me  you’re  a weakly  edition  of  a 
man  yourself,”  thought  the  other.  “ He  must  be 
a lunatic,”  was  the  next  thought.  “ I may  as 
well  humor  him.” 

“ Go  in  at  that  door,”  he  said. 

The  stranger  entered  as  directed,  and  at  once 
recognized  it  as  a prison. 

“ It  is  very  singular  that  there  should  be  a 
prison  in  the  ‘ Tribune  ’ office,”  he  thought.  He 

137 


138 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


took  a seat,  and  whispered  to  a man  at  his  side: 
“ Can  you  tell  me  where  the  ‘ Tribune  ’ Office  is?  ” 

“ Printing  House  Square,”  was  the  whispered 
reply. 

“Where’s  that?” 

“ Not  much  over  a quarter  of  a mile  from 
here.” 

“ The  boy  deceived  me,”  thought  the  stranger 
indignantly,  “ and  I gave  him  fifty  cents  for  doing 
it.  He  must  be  a young  rascal.” 

“ What  building  is  this  ? ” he  asked  in  a whis- 
per. 

“ The  Tombs.” 

“ What,  the  prison  ? ” 

“ Yes  ; didn’t  you  know  it?  ” asked  the  inform- 
ant in  surprise. 

“ I am  a stranger  in  the  city,”  said  the  Illinois 
man  apologetically. 

“ Do  you  want  to  go  to  the  ‘ Tribune  ’ office?  ” 

“ Yes,  I wished  to  subscribe  for  the  paper.” 

“ I am  going  that  way.  I will  show  you  if 
you  desire  it.” 

“ Thank  you.  I shall  consider  it  a favor.” 

So  the  two  retraced  their  steps,  and  this  time 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW  139 

our  Illinois  friend  found  the  office  of  which  he 
was  in  quest.  He  came  near  finding  Sam  also, 
for  as  he  stood  in  front  of  French’s  Hotel,  he 
saw  his  recent  acquaintance  approaching,  and 
quickly  dodged  inside  the  hotel  till  he  had  passed. 
A bootblack  to  whom  he  had  been  speaking  fol- 
lowed him  in  surprise. 

“ I say,  what’s  up,  Johnny?  ” he  asked.  “ Yef 
didn’t  see  a cop,  did  yer?  ” 

“ No,  it’s  that  man  that  just  went  by.” 

“ Who’s  he?  ” 

“ He’s  the  man  I ran  away  from,”  said  Sam, 
not  caring  to  tell  the  truth. 

“ What  would  he  do  if  he  should  catch  you  ? ” 
asked  the  bootblack  with  curiosity. 

“ Lick  me,”  said  Sam  laconically. 

“ Then  you  did  right.  Is  he  going  to  stay  here 
long?  ” 

“ No;  he’s  going  away  to-day.” 

“ Then  you’re  safe.  You’d  better  go  the  other 
way  from  him.” 

“ So  I will,”  said  Sam.  “ Where’s  the  park 
I’ve  heard  so  much  about  ? ” 

“ Up  that  way.” 


140  THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 

“ Is  it  far?” 

“ Four  or  five  miles.” 

“ It’s  a long  way  to  walk.” 

“ You  can  ride  for  five  cents.” 

“ Can  I?” 

“ Yes,  just  go  over  to  the  Astor  House  and 
take  the  Sixth  Avenue  cars,  and  they’ll  take  you 
there.” 

Sam  had  intended  to  spend  his  entire  fifty 
cents  in  buying  dinner  when  the  time  came,  but 
he  thought  he  would  like  to  see  Central  Park. 
Besides,  he  would  be  safe  from  pursuit,  and  the 
punishment  which  he  felt  lie  deserved.  Follow- 
ing the  directions  of  his  boy  friend,  he  entered  a 
Sixth  Avenue  car,  and  in  a little  less  than  an  hour 
was  set  down  at  one  of  the  gates  of  the  park.  He 
entered  with  a number  of  others,  and  followed 

V 

the  path  that  seemed  most  convenient,  coming 
out  at  last  at  the  lake.  Until  now  Sam  had 
thought  rather  slightingly  of  the  park.  Green 
fields  were  no  novelty  to  him,  but  he  admired  the 
lake,  with  the  boats  that  plied  over  its  surface 
filled  with  lively  passengers.  He  would  have  in- 
vested ten  cents  in  a passage  ticket ; but  he  felt 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW  141 

that  if  he  did  this,  he  must  sacrifice  a part  of  his 
intended  dinner,  and  Sam  was  growing  prudent. 
He  wandered  about  the  park  two  or  three  hours, 
sitting  down  at  times  on  the  benches  that  are  to 
be  found  here  and  there  for  the  convenience  of 
visitors.  He  felt  ready  to  go  back,  but  it  was 
only  noon,  and  he  was  not  sure  but  he  might  fall 
in  with  the  gentleman  from  Illinois,  whom  he 
had  left  at  the  entrance  of  the  Tombs. 

He  was  destined  to  meet  an  acquaintance,  but 
this  time  it  was  someone  who  had  cheated  him. 
Looking  up  from  the  bench  on  which  he  was 
seated,  he  saw  his  host  of  the  preceding  night,  Mr. 
Clarence  Brown,  lounging  along,  smoking  a 
cigar,  with  a look  of  placid  contentment  on  his 
face. 

“ That  cigar  was  bought  with  my  money,” 
thought  Sam  bitterly  ; and  in  this  conclusion  he 
was  right. 

Sam  jumped  from  his  seat,  and  advanced  to 
meet  his  enemy. 

“ Look  here,  Mr.  Brown ! ” 

Clarence  Brown  started  as  he  saw  who  ad- 
dressed him,  for  he  was  far  from  expecting  to 


142 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


meet  Sam  here.  He  saw  from  the  boy’s  looks 
that  he  was  suspected  of  robbing  him,  and  de- 
cided upon  his  course. 

“ Oh,  it’s  you,  is  it?  ” he  said,  smiling.  “ How 
do  you  like  the  park  ? ” 

“ Never  mind  about  that,”  said  Sam  impa- 
tiently. “ I want  my  money.” 

Mr.  Brown  arched  his  eyes  in  surprise. 

“ Really,  my  young  friend,  I don’t  comprehend 
you,”  he  said,  withdrawing  his  cigar  from  his 
mouth.  “ You  speak  as  if  I owed  you  some 
money.” 

“ Quit  fooling ! ” said  Sam,  provoked  at  the 
other’s  coolness.  “ I want  that  money  you  took 
from  me  while  I was  asleep  last  night.” 

“ It  strikes  me  you  have  been  dreaming,” 
said  Brown  composedly.  “I  don’t  know  any- 
thing about  your  money.  How  much  did  you 
have?” 

“ Nearly  seven  dollars.” 

“ Are  you  sure  you  had  it  when  you  went  to 
bed?” 

“ Yes.  I kept  it  in  my  vest  pocket.” 

“ That  was  careless.  You  should  have  con- 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAY/  H3 

cealed  it  somewhere.  I would  have  kept  it  for 
you  if  you  had  asked  me.” 

“ I dare  say  you  would,”  said  Sam  with  wither- 
ing sarcasm. 

“ Certainly,  I wouldn’t  refuse  so  small  a 
favor.” 

“ Are  you  sure  you  didn’t  keep  it  for  me  ? ” 
said  Sam. 

“ How  could  I when  you  didn’t  give  it  to  me  ? ” 
returned  the  other  innocently. 

“ If  you  didn’t  take  it,”  said  Sam,  rather  stag- 
gered by  the  other’s  manner,  “ where  did  it  go 
to?” 

“ I don’t  know,  of  course  ; but  I shouldn’t  be 
surprised  if  it  fell  out  of  your  vest  pocket  among 
the  bedclothes.  Did  you  look  ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ You  might  have  overlooked  it.” 

“ Perhaps  so,”  said  Sam  thoughtfully. 

He  began  to  think  he  had  suspected  Mr.  Brown 
unjustly.  Otherwise,  how  could  he  be  so  cool 
about  it? 

“ I am  really  sorry  for  your  loss,”  said  Brown, 
in  a tone  of  sympathy  ; “ all  the  more  so,  because 


144 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


I am  hard  up  myself.  I wish  I had  seven  dollars 
to  lend  you.” 

“ I wish  you  had,”  muttered  Sam.  “ I can’t 
get  along  without  money.” 

“ Did  you  have  any  breakfast?  ” 

“ Yes.” 

Sam  did  not  furnish  particulars,  not  liking  to 
acknowledge  the  treatment  he  had  received. 

“ Oh,  you’ll  get  along,”  said  Brown  cheerfully. 
“ Come  and  lodge  with  me  again  to-night.” 

“ I don’t  know  but  what  I will,”  said  Sam, 
reflecting  that  he  had  no  money  to  lose  now,  as 
he  intended  to  spend  all  he  had  for  dinner. 

“ Sit  down  and  let  us  have  a friendly  chat,” 
said  Clarence  Brown.  “ Won’t  you  have  a 
cigar?  I’ve  got  an  extra  one.” 

“ I never  smoked,”  said  Sam. 

“ Then  it’s  time  you  learned.  Shall  I show 
you  howj*  ” 

“ Yes,”  said  Sam. 

The  fact  is,  our  very  badly  behaved  hero  had 
long  cherished  a desire  to  see  how  it  seemed  to 
smoke  a cigar  ; but  in  the  country  he  had  never 

if- 

had  the  opportunity.  In  the  city  he  was  master 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


145 


of  his  own  actions,  and  it  occurred  to  him  that  he 
would  never  have  a better  opportunity.  Hence 
his  affirmative  answer. 

Clarence  Brown  smiled  slightly  to  himself,  for 
he  anticipated  fun.  He  produced  the  cigar, 
lighted  it  by  his  own,  and  gave  Sam  directions 
how  to  smoke.  Sam  proved  an  apt  pupil,  and 
was  soon  puffing  away  with  conscious  pride.  He 
felt  himself  several  years  older.  But  all  at  once 
he  turned  pale,  and  drew  the  cigar  from  his 
mouth. 

“ What’s  the  matter?  ” asked  Brown  demurely. 

“ I — don’t — know,”  gasped  Sam,  his  eyes  roll- 
ing ; “ I — feel — sick.” 

“ Do  you?  Don’t  mind  it ; it’ll  pass  off.” 

“ I think  I’m  going  to  die,”  said  Sam  in  a 
hollow  voice.  “ Does  smoking  ever  kill  people  ? ” 

“ Not  often,”  said  Brown  soothingly. 

“ I think  it’s  goin’  to  kill  me,”  said  Sam  mourn- 
fully. 

“ Lie  down  on  the  bench.  You’ll  feel  better 
soon.” 

Sam  lay  down  on  his  back,  and  again  he  wished 
himself  safelv  back  at  the  deacon’s.  New  York 


146  THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 

seemed  to  him  a very  dreadful  place.  His  head 
ached;  his  stomach  was  out  of  tune,  and  he  felt 
very  unhappy. 

“ Lie  here  a little  while,  and  you’ll  feel  better,” 
said  his  companion.  “ I’ll  be  back  soon.” 

He  walked  away  to  indulge  in  a laugh  at  his 
victim’s  expense,  and  Sam  was  left  alone. 


CHAPTER  XVII 


TIM  BRADY 

Af  hour  passd  and  Clarence  Brown  did  not  re- 
appear. He  had  intended  to  do  so,  but  reflecting 
that  there  was  no  more  to  be  got  out  of  Sam. 
changed  his  mind. 

Sam  lay  down  on  the  bench  for  some  time,  then 
raised  himself  to  a sitting  posture.  He  did  not 
feel  so  sick  as  at  first,  but  his  head  ached  un- 
pleasantly. 

“ I won’t  smoke  any  more,”  he  said  to  himself. 
‘ I didn’t  think  it  would  make  me  feel  so  bad.” 

I am  sorry  to  say  that  Sam  did  not  keep  the 
resolution  he  then  made  ; but  at  the  time  when  he 
is  first  introduced  to  the  reader,  in  the  first  chap- 
ter, had  become  a confirmed  smoker. 

“Why  don’t  Mr.  Brown  come  back?”  he 
thought,  after  the  lapse  of  an  hour. 

He  waited  half  an  hour  longer,  when  he  was 
brought  to  the  conviction  that  Brown  had  played 


147 


148  THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 

him  false,  and  was  not  coming  back  at  all.  With 
this  conviction  his  original  suspicion  revived, 
and  he  made  up  his  mind  that  Brown  had  robbed 
him  after  all.  , 

“ I’d  like  to  punch  his  head,”  thought  Sam 
angrily. 

It  did  not  occur  to  him  that  the  deacon,  from 
whom  the  money  was  originally  taken,  had  the 
same  right  to  punch  his  head.  As  I said,  Sam’s 
conscience  was  not  sensitive,  and  self-interest 
blinded  him  to  the  character  of  his  own  conduct. 

His  experience  in  smoking  had  given  him  a 
distaste  for  the  park,  for  this  afternoon  at  least, 
and  he  made  his  way  to  the  horse  cars,  determined 
to  return.  It  did  make  him  feel  a little  forlorn 
to  reflect  that  he  had  no  place  to  return  to  ; no 
home  but  the  streets.  He  had  not  yet  contracted 
that  vagabond  feeling  that  makes  even  them  seem 
homelike  to  the  hundreds  of  homeless  children 
who  wander  about  in  them  by  day  and  by  night. 

He  was  in  due  time  landed  at  the  Astor  House. 
It  was  about  four  o’clock  in  the  afternoon,  and 
he  had  had  nothing  to  eat  since  breakfast.  But 
for  the  cigar,  he  would  have  had  a hearty  appe- 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


149 


tite.  As  it  was,  he  felt  faint,  and  thought  he 
should  relish  some  tea  and  toast.  He  made  his 
way,  therefore,  to  a restaurant  in  Fulton  Street, 
between  Broadway  and  Nassau  Street.  It  was 
a very  respectable  place,  but  at  that  time  in  the 
afternoon  there  were  few  at  the  tables.  Sam  had 
forty  cents  left.  He  found  that  this  would  allow 
him  to  buy  a cup  of  tea,  a plate  of  beefsteak,  a 
plate  of  toast,  and  a piece  of  pie.  He  disposed 
of  them,  and  going  up  to  the  desk  paid  his  bill. 
Again  he  found  himself  penniless. 

“ I wonder  where  I am  going  to  sleep,”  he 
thought.  “ I guess  I’ll  ask  some  bootblacks 
where  they  live.  They  can’t  afford  to  pay  much.” 

The  tea  made  his  head  feel  better  ; and.,  though 
he  was  penniless,  he  began  to  feel  more  cheerful 
than  an  hour  before. 

He  wandered  about  till  he  got  tired,  leaning 
against  a building  sometimes.  He  began  to  feel 
lonely.  He  knew  nobody  in  the  great  city  except 
Clarence  Brown,  whom  he  did  not  care  to  meet 
again,  and  the  bootblack  whose  acquaintance  he 
had  made  the  day  before. 

“ I wish  I had  some  other  boy  with  me,” 


150 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


thought  Sam;  “somebody  I knew.  It’s  awful 
lonesome.” 

Sam  was  social  by  temperament,  and  looked 
about  him  to  see  if  he  could  not  make  someone’s 
acquaintance.  Sitting  on  the  same  bench  with 
him — for  he  was  in  City  Hall  Park — was  a boy 
of  about  his  own  age,  apparently.  To  him  Sam 
determined  to  make  friendly  overtures. 

“ What  is  your  name,  toy?  ” asked  Sam. 

The  other  boy  looked  around  at  him.  He  was 
very  much  freckled,  and  had  a sharp  look  which 
made  him  appear  preternaturally  old. 

“ What  do  you  want  to  know  for  ? ” he  asked. 

“ I don’t  know  anybody  here.  I’d  like  to  get 
acquainted.” 

The  street  boy  regarded  him  attentively  to  see 
if  he  were  in  earnest,  and  answered,  after  a pause, 
“My  name  is  Tim  Brady.  What’s  yours?” 

“ Sam  Barker.” 

“ Where  do  you  live?  ” 

“ Nowhere,”  said  Sam.  “ I haven’t  got  any 
home,  nor  any  money.” 

“ That’s  nothing.  ” said  Tim.  “ No  more 
have  I.” 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW  151 

“ Haven’t  you  ? ” said  Sam  surprised.  “ Then 
where  are  you  going  to  sleep  to-night?  ” 

“ I know  an  old  wagon  up  an  alley  where  I 
can  sleep  like  a top.” 

“ Ain’t  you  afraid  of  taking  cold,  sleeping  out 
of  doors  ? ” asked  Sam,  who,  poor  as  he  had 
always  been,  had  never  been  without  a roof  to 
cover  him. 

“ Take  cold,”  repeated  the  boy  scornfully.  “ I 
ain’t  a baby.  I don’t  take  cold  in  the  summer.” 
“ I shouldn’t  think  you  could  sleep  in  a wagon.” 
“ Oh,  I can  sleep  anywhere,”  said  Tim.  “ It 
makes  no  difference  to  me  where  I curl  up.” 

“ Is  there  room  enough  in  the  wagon  for  me?  ” 
asked  Sam. 

“ Yes,  unless  some  other  chap  gets  ahead  of 
us.” 

“ May  I go  with  you,  ” 

“ In  course  you  can.” 

“ Suppose  we  find  somebody  else  ahead  of  us.” 
“ Then  we’ll  go  somewhere  else.  There’s 
plenty  of  places.  I say,  Johnny,  haven’t  you  got 
no  stamps  at  all  ? ” 

“ Stamps?  ” 


152 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


“ Yes,  money.  Don’t  you  know  what  stamps 
is?” 

“ No.  I spent  my  last  cent  for  supper.” 

“ If  you’d  got  thirty  cents  we’d  go  to  the 
theater.” 

“ Is  it  good?  ” 

“ You  bet ! ” 

“Then  I wish  I had  money  enough  to  go.  I 
never  went  to  the  theater  in  my  life.” 

“You  didn’t!  Where  was  you  raised?”  said 
Tim  contemptuously. 

“ In  the  country.” 

“ I thought  so.” 

“ They  don’t  have  theaters  in  the  country.” 

“ Then  I wouldn’t  live  there.  It  must  be  awful 
dull  there.” 

“ So  it  is,”  said  Sam.  “ That’s  why  I ran 
away.” 

■ “Did  you  run  away?”  asked  Tim  interested. 
“ Was  it  from  the  old  man  ? ” 

“ It  was  from  the  man  I worked  for.  He 
wanted  me  to  work  all  the  time,  and  I got  tired 
of  it.” 

“ What  sort  of  work  was  it?  ” asked  Tim. 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


US 

“ It  was  on  a farm.  I had  to  hoe  potatoes, 
split  wood,  and  such  things.” 

“ I wouldn’t  like  it.  It’s  a good  deal  more 
jolly  bein’  in  the  city.” 

“ If  you’ve  only  got  money  enough  to  get 
along,”  added  Sam. 

“ Oh,  you  can  earn  money.” 

“ How  ? ” asked  Sam  eagerly. 

“ Different  ways.” 

“ How  do  you  make  a livin’?  ” 

“ Sometimes  I black  boots,  sometimes  I sell 
papers,  then  again  I smash  baggage.” 

“ What’s  that  ? ” asked  Sam  bewildered. 

“ Oh,  I forgot,”  exclaimed  Tim.  “ You’re 
from  the  country.  I loaf  around  the  depots  and 
steamboat  landin’s  and  carry  carpetbags  and  such 
things  for  pay.” 

“ Is  that  smashing  baggage  ? ” 

“ To  be  sure.” 

“ I could  do  that,”  said  Sam  thoughtfully. 
“ Can  you  make  much  that  way?  ” 

“ ’Pends  on  how  many  jobs  you  get,  and 
whether  the  cove’s  liberal.  Wimmen’s  the  wust. 
They’ll  beat  a chap  down  to  nothin’,  if  they  can.” 


154 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


“ How  much  do  you  get,  anyway,  for  carrying 
a bundle  ? ” 

“ I axes  fifty  cents,  and  generally  gets  a quarter. 
The  wimmen  don’t  Avant  to  pay  more’n  ten 
cents.” 

“ I guess  I’ll  try  it  to-morrow,  if  you’ll  tell  me 
where  to  go.” 

“ You  can  go  along  of  me.  I’m  goin’  smashin’ 
myself  to-morrer.” 

“ Thank  you,”  said  Sam.  “ I’m  glad  I met 
you.  You  see  I don’t  know  much  about  the  city.” 

“ Didn’t  you  bring  no  money  with  you  ? ” 

“ Yes,  but  it  was  stolen.” 

“Was  your  pockets  picked?” 

“ I’ll  tell  you  about  it.  I was  robbed  in  my 
sleep.” 

So  Sam  told  the  story  of  his  adventure  with 
Clarence  Brown.  Tim  listened  attentively. 

“ He  was  smart,  he  was,”  said  Tim  approv- 
ingly. 

“ He’s  a rascal,”  said  Sam  hotly,  who  did  not 
relish  his  spoiler  praised. 

“ Course  he  is,  but  he’s  smart,  too.  You  might 
V knowed  he’d  do  it.” 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW  155 

“ How  should  I know  ? I thought  he  was  a 
kind  man  that  wanted  to  do  me  a favor.” 

Tim  burst  out  laughing. 

“ Ain’t  you  green,  though  ? ” he  remarked. 
“Oh,  my  eye,  but  you’re  jolly  green.” 

“ Am  I ? ” said  Sam,  rather  offended.  “ Is 
everybody  a thief  in  New  York?  ” 

“ ’Most  everybody,  if  they  gets  a chance,”  said 
Tim  coolly.  “ Didn’t  you  ever  steal  your- 
self?” 

Sam  colored.  He  had  temporarily  forgotten 
the  little  adventure  that  preceded  his  departure 
from  his  country  home.  After  all,  why  should 
he  be  so  angry  with  Clarence  Brown  for  doing 
the  very  same  thing  he  had  done  himself  ? Why, 
indeed?  But  Sam  had  an  answer  ready.  The 
deacon  did  not  need  the  money,  while  he  could 
not  get  along  very  well  without  it.  So  it  was 
meaner  in  Clarence  Brown  to  take  all  he  had 
than  in  him  to  take  what  the  deacon  could  so  well 
spare. 

I hope  my  readers  understand  that  this  was 
very  flimsy  and  unsatisfactory  reasoning.  Steal- 
ing is  stealing,  under  whatever  circumstances. 


I5<5 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


At  any  rate,  Sam  found  it  inconvenient  to  answer 
Tim’s  pointed  question. 

They  talked  a while  longer,  and  then  his  com- 
panion arose  from  the  bench. 

“ Come  along,  Johnny,”  he  said.  “ Let’s  go  to 
roost.” 

“All  right,”  said  Sam,  and  the  two  left  the 
park. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 


SAM  TURNS  IMPOSTOR 

Tim  conducted  our  hero  to  an  alleyway,  not 
far  from  the  North  River,  in  which  an  old  wagon 
had  come  to  temporary  anchor. 

“ This  is  my  hotel,”  he  said.  “ I like  it  ’cause 
it’s  cheap.  They  don’t  trouble  you  with  no  bills 
here.  Tumble  in.” 

Tim,  without  further  ceremony,  laid  himself 
down  on  the  floor  of  the  wagon,  and  Sam  fol- 
lowed his  example.  There  is  everything  in  get- 
ting used  to  things,  and  that  is  where  Tim  had  the 
advantage.  He  did  not  mind  the  hardness  of  his 
couch,  while  Sam,  who  had  always  been  accus- 
tomed to  a regular  bed,  did.  He  moved  from  one 
side  to  another,  and  then  lay  on  his  back,  seeking 
sleep  in  vain. 

“ What’s  up  ? ” muttered  Tim  sleepily.  “ Why 
don’t  you  shut  your  peepers?  ” 

“ The  boards  are  awful  hard,”  Sam  complained. 

*57 


>58 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


“ It  ain’t  nothin’  when  you’re  used  to  it,”  said 
Tim.  “ You  go  to  sleep,  and  you  won’t  mind  it.” 

“ I wish  I could,”  said  Sam,  turning  again. 

Finally  he  succeeded  in  getting  to  sleep,  but 
not  till  some  time  after  his  companion.  He  slept 
pretty  well,  however,  and  did  not  awaken  till,  at 
six  o’clock,  he  was  shaken  by  his  companion. 

**  What’s  the  matter  ? Where  am  I ? ” asked 
Sam,  feeling  bewildered  at  first 

“ Why,  here  you  are,  in  course,”  said  the  mat- 
ter-of-fact Tim.  “ Did  you  think  you  was  in  the 
station-house?  ” 

" No,  I hope  not,”  answered  Sam.  “ What 
time  is  it?  ” 

“ I don’t  know.  A chap  stole  my  watch  in  the 
night.  I guess  it’s  after  six.  Have  you  got  any 
stamps  ? ” 

“ No.” 

“ Nor  I.  We’ve  got  to  stir  around,  and  earn 
some  breakfast.” 

“ How’ll  we  do  it?  ” 

“ We’ll  go  down  to  the  pier,  and  wait  for  the 
Boston  boat.  Maybe  we’ll  get  a chance  to  smash 
some  baggage.” 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


159 


“I  hope  so,”  said  Sam,  “ for  I’m  hungry.” 

“ I’m  troubled  that  way  myself,”  said  Tim. 
“ Come  along.” 

When  they  reached  the  pier,  they  found  a num- 
ber of  boys,  men,  and  hack-drivers  already  in 
waiting.  They  had  to  wait  about  half  an  hour, 
when  they  saw  the  great  steamer  slowly  approach- 
ing the  wharf. 

Instantly  Tim  was  on  the  alert. 

“When  they  begin  to  come  ashore,  you  must 
go  in  and  try  your  luck.  Just  do  as  I do.” 

This  Sam  resolved  to  do. 

A tall  man  emerged  from  the  steamer,  bearing 
a carpet-bag. 

“ Smash  your  baggage  ? ” said  Tim. 

“ No,  I think  not.  I can  carry  it  myself.” 

“ I haven’t  had  any  breakfast,”  said  Tim, 
screwing  up  his  freckled  features  into  an  expres- 
sion of  patient  suffering. 

“Nor  I either,”  said  the  stranger,  smiling. 

“ You’ve  got  money  to  buy  some,  and  I 
haven’t,”  said  Tim.  keeping  at  his  side. 

“ Well,  you  may  carry  it,”  said  the  gentleman, 
good-naturedly. 


160  THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 

Tim  turned  half  around,  and  winked  at  Sam, 
as  much  as  to  say  “ Did  you  see  how  I did  it  ? ” 
Sam  was  quick  enough  to  take  the  hint. 

“ Smash  your  carpet-bag?  ” he  asked  of  a mid- 
dle-aged lady,  imitating  as  closely  as  possible 
Tim’s  professional  accent. 

“ What  ? ” asked  the  lady,  startled. 

“ She  don’t  understand,”  thought  Sam.  “ Let 
me  carry  it  for  you,  ma’am.” 

“ I do  not  need  it.  I am  going  to  take  a cab.” 
“ Let  me  take  it  t the  cab,”  persisted  Sam;  but 
he  was  forestalled  by  a hack-driver,  who  had 
heard  the  lady’s  remark. 

“Let  me  take  it,  ma’am,”  he  said,  thrusting 
Sam  aside.  “ I’ve  got  a nice  carriage  just  out- 
side. Take  you  anywhere  you  want  to  go.” 

So  the  lady  was  carried  away, 'and  Sam  had  to 
make  a second  application.  This  time  he  ad- 
dressed himself  to  a gentleman  whose  little 
daughter  walked  by  his  side. 

“ No,”  said  the  gentleman;  “ the  carpet-bag  is 
small.  I don’t  need  help.” 

The  smallness  of  the  bag,  by  the  way,  was  one 
reason  why  Sam,  who  did  not  like  heavy  bundles, 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


161 

wanted  to  carry  it.  He  felt  that  it  was  time  to 
practice  on  the  stranger’s  feelings. 

“ I want  to  earn  some  money  to  buy  bread  for 
my  mother,”  he  whined,  in  a very  creditable  man- 
ner, considering  how  inexperienced  he  was. 

This  attracted  the  attention  of  the  little  girl, 
who,  like  most  little  girls,  had  a tender  and  com- 
passionate heart. 

“ Is  your  mother  poor?  ” she  asked. 

“ Very  poor,”  said  Sam.  “ She  hasn’t  got  a 
cent  to  buy  bread  for  the  children.” 

“ Have  you  got  many  brothers  and  sisters  ? ” 
asked  the  little  girl,  her  voice  full  of  sympathy. 

“ Five,”  answered  Sam  piteously. 

“ Oh,  papa.”  said  the  little  girl,  “ let  him  take 
your  carpet-bag.  Think  of  it,  his  mother  hasn’t 
got  anything  to  eat.” 

“ Well,  Clara,”  said  her  father  indulgently,  “ I 
suppose  I must  gratify  you.  Here,  boy,  take  the 
bag,  and  carry  it  carefully.” 

“ All  right,  sir,”  said  Sam  cheerfully. 

“ I guess  I can  get  along,”  he  thought  com- 
placently. “ That’s  a good  dodge.” 

“ When  we  get  to  Broadway  we’ll  take  the 


162 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


car,”  said  the  gentleman.  “ Take  hold  of  my 
hand,  tight,  Clara,  while  we  cross  the  street.” 

Clara  seemed  disposed  to  be  sociable,  and  en- 
tered into  conversation  with  the  young  baggage- 
smasher. 

“ Are  your  brothers  and  sisters  younger  than 
yon  are  ? ” she  inquired. 

“ Yes,”  said  Sam. 

“ How  many  of  them  are  hoys  ? ” 

“ There’s  two  boys  besides  me,  and  three 
girls,”  said  Sam  readily. 

“ What  are  their  names  ? ” asked  Clara. 

“ Why,”  answered  Sam,  hesitating  a little, 
“ there’s  Tom,  and  Jim,  and  John,  and  Sarah,  and 
Maggie.” 

1 don’t  see  how  that  can  be,”  said  Clara  puz- 
zled. “ Just  now  you  said  there  were  three  girls 
and  only  two  boys.” 

“ Did  I ? ” said  Sam  rather  abashed.  “ I 
didn’t  think  what  I was  saying.” 

“ Isn’t  your  father  alive  ? ” asked  the  little  girl* 
No  ; he’s  dead.” 

“ And  do  you  have  to  support  the  family?  ” 
Yes;  except  what  mother  does.” 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


163 


“ What  does  she  do  ? ” 

“ Oh,  she  goes  out  washing.” 

“ Poor  boy,  I suppose  you  have  a hard  time?  ” 
“Yes,”  said  Sam;  “some  days  we  don’t  get 
anything  to  eat.” 

“Oh,  papa,  isn’t  it  dreadful?”  said  Clara,  her 
warm  little  heart  throbbing  with  sympathy. 

Her  father  was  less  credulous,  and  he  was 
struck  by  Sam’s  hearty  appearance.  Certainly 
he  looked  very  unlike  a boy  who  did  not  have 
enough  to  eat. 

“ You  don’t  look  as  if  you  suffered  much  from 
hunger,  my  boy,”  said  he,  with  a penetrating  look. 

“ I had  a good  dinner  yesterday,”  said  Sam. 
“ A gentleman  gave  me  some  money  for  showing 
him  the  way  to  the  ‘ Tribune  ’ office.” 

“ One  dinner  seems  to  have  done  you  a great 
deal  of  good,”  said  the  man. 

“ It  always  does  me  good,”  said  Sam,  and  here 
he  had  no  occasion  to  tell  a falsehood. 

“ I hope  you  carried  some  of  the  money  home 
to  your  mother,  and  brothers,  and  sisters.” 

“ Yes,  I did;  I bought  some  meat,  and  mother 
cooked  it.  We  don’t  often  have  meat.” 


164 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


“ Perhaps  I am  doing  the  boy  injustice,  after 
all,”  thought  Mr.  Glenham,  for  that  was  his 
name. 

As  for  Clara,  her  childish  sympathies  were 
fully  aroused. 

“ Papa,”  she  said,  “ may  I give  this  poor  boy 
the  half  dollar  Aunt  Lucy  gave  me  ? ” 

“ I thought  you  had  arranged  some  way  of 
spending  it,  Clara?  ” 

“ So  I had,  father;  but  I’d  rather  give  it  to  this 
poor  boy.” 

“ You  may  do  as  you  like,  my  darling,”  said 
her  father  tenderly. 

“ Here,  boy,  take  this  home  to  your  mother,” 
said  Clara. 

My  readers  have  probably  inferred  already  that 
Sam  was  not  a boy  of  very  high  principles,  but 
I must  do  him  the  justice  to  say  that  he  felt 
ashamed  to  take  the  money  tendered  him  by  the 
little  girl  upon  whom  he  had  imposed  by  his  false 
story. 

“ I don’t  like  to  take  your  money,”  he  said, 
hanging  back. 

“ But  I want  you  to,”  said  Clara  eagerly. 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW  165 

“ I’d  a great  deal  rather  your  mother  would  have 

it.” 

“ You  may  take  it,”  said  Mr.  Glenham,  'who 
was  disposed  to  regard  Sam  with  greater  favor, 
on  account  of  the  reluctance  he  exhibited  to  profit 
by  Clara’s  compassion. 

“ Thank  you,”  said  Sam,  no  longer  withhold- 
ing his  hand.  “ You  are  very  kind.” 

By  this  time  they  had  reached  Broadway,  and 
Sam  delivered  up  the  bag. 

Mr.  Glenham  handed  him  a quarter. 

“ That  is  for  your  trouble,”  he  said. 

“ Thank  you,  sir,”  said  Sam. 

Sam  was  elated  over  his  good  fortune. 

“ Seventy-five  cents ! ” he  said  to  himself. 
“ That’s  what  I call  luck.  I don’t  believe  Tim’s 
done  so  well.  It  ain’t  so  hard  to  make  your  liv- 
ing in  New  York,  after  all.  I guess  I’ll  go  and 
get  some  breakfast.” 


CHAPTER  XIX 


HOW  SAM  FARED 

On  the  strength  of  his  good  luck,  Sam  provided 
himself  with  a good  breakfast,  which  cost  him ' 
forty  cents.  He  felt  pretty  sure  of  earning  some- 
thing more  during  the  day  to  add  to  the  remain- 
ing thirty-five.  But  fortune  is  capricious, 
and  our  hero  found  all  his  offers  of  service  firmly 
refused.  He  tried  again  to  excite  compassion  by 
his  fictitious  story  of  a starving  family  at  home; 
but  his  appeals  were  made  to  the  flinty-hearted  or 
the  incredulous.  So,  about  two  o’clock,  he  went 
to  dinner,  and  spent  the  remainder  of  his  money. 

Again  he  spent  the  night  with  Tim  in  the 
wagon,  and  again  in  the  morning  he  set  out  to 
earn  his  breakfast.  But  luck  was  against  him. 
People  insisted  on  carrying  their  own  carpet- 
bags, to  the  great  detriment  of  the  baggage- 
smashing  business.  Tim  was  no  luckier  than 
Sam.  About  ten  o’clock  they  were  walking  de- 
166 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW  167 

spondently  through  a side  street,  discussing  ways 
and  means. 

" I'm  awful  hungry,  Tim,”  said  Sam  mourn- 
fully. 

“ So  am  I,  you  bet ! ” 

“ I wouldn’t  mind  if  I had  a couple  of  apples,” 
said  Sam,  fixing  his  eyes  upon  an  old  woman’s 
apple-stand.  “ Wouldn’t  she  trust?  ” 

**  Not  much,”  said  Tim.  “ You  try  her,  if  you 
want  to.” 

“ I will,”  said  Sam  desperately. 

The  two  boys  approached  the  apple-stand. 

I say,”  said  Sam  to  the  wrinkled  old  woman 
who  presided  over  it,  “ how  do  you  sell  your 
apples  ? ” 

“ A penny  apiece,”  she  answered,  in  a cracked 
voice.  “ Is  that  cheap  enough  for  ye?  ” 

“ I’ll  take  five ” said  Sam. 

The  old  woman  began  eagerly  to  pick  out  the 
required  number,  but  stopped  short  when  he  fin- 
ished the  sentence — “ if  you’ll  trust  me  till  after- 
noon.” 

“Is  it  trust  ye?”  she  ejaculated  suspiciously. 
“No  farther  than  I can  see  yer.  ' I’m  up  to  your 


i68 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


tricks,  you  young  spalpeen,  thryin’  to  chate  a poor 
wiclder  out  of  her  money.” 

“ I’ll  pay  you  sure,”  said  Sam,  “ but  I haven’t 
earned  anything  yet  to-day.” 

“ Then  it’s  I that  can’t  be  supportin’  a big, 
strong  boy  like  you.  Go  away  and  come  back 
whin  you’ve  got  money.” 

Here  Tim  broke  in. 

“ My  friend  always  pays  his  bills,”  he  said. 
“ You  needn’t  be  afraid  to  trust  him.” 

“ And  who  are  you  ? ” asked  the  old  woman. 
“ I don’t  know  you,  and  I can’t  take  your  word. 
You’re  tryin’  the  two  of  you  to  swindle  a poor 
widder.” 

“ My  father’s  an  alderman,”  said  Tim,  giving 
the  wink  to  Sam. 

“ Is  he  now  ? Thin,  let  him  lind  your  friend 
money,  and  don’t  ask  a poor  woman  to  trust.” 

“ Well,  I would,  but  he’s  gone  to  Washington 
on  business.” 

“ Thin  go  after  him,  and  lave  me  alone.  I 
don’t  want  no  spalpeens  like  you  round  my  apple- 
stand.” 

“ Look  here,  old  woman.  I’ll  have  you  ar- 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW  169 

rested  for  callin’  me  names.  Come  away,  Sam; 
her  apples  are  rotten  anyhow.” 

The  old  woman  began  to  berate  them  soundly, 
indignant  at  this  attack  upon  her  wares,  and  in 
the  midst  of  it  the  two  boys  walked  off. 

“We  didn’t  make  much,”  said  Sam.  “I’m 
awful  hungry.” 

“ Take  that,  then,”  said  Tim,  pulling  an  apple 
out  of  his  pocket. 

Sam  opened  his  eyes. 

“ How  did  you  get  it?  ” he  asked  in  astonish- 
ment. 

Tim  put  his  tongue  in  his  cheek. 

“ I took  it  when  you  were  talkin’  to  the  ould 
woman,”  he  answered;  “and  here’s  another.” 

So  saying  he  produced  a companion  apple,  and 
made  a vigorous  onslaught  upon  it,  Sam  follow- 
ing suit. 

“ I don’t  see  how  you  could  do  it,”  said  Sam 
admiringly,  “ and  she  looking  on  all  the  time.” 

“ It’s  easy  enough  when  you  know  how,”  said 
Tim  complacently. 

“ She’d  catch  me,  sure.” 

“ Likely  she  would;  you  ain’t  used  to  it.” 


i ;o  THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 

Sam  ought  to  have  felt  uneasy  at  appropriat- 
ing the  result  of  a theft;  but  his  conscience  was 
an  easy  one,  and  he  felt  hungry.  So  he  made 
short  work  of  the  apple,  and  wished  for  more. 

“ I wish  you  had  taken  two  apiece,”  he  said. 

“ I couldn’t,”  said  Tim.  “ She’d  have  seen  ’era 
stickin’  out  of  my  pocket,  and  called  a cop.” 

“ One’s  better  than  none;  I feel  a little  better,” 
said  Sam  philosophically.  “ I s’pose  it’s  steal- 
ing, though.” 

“ Oh,  what’s  the  odds?  She’ll  never  miss  ’em. 
Come  along.” 

In  the  course  of  the  forenoon  Sam  managed  to 
earn  ten  cents,  and  was  forced  to  content  himself 
with  a very  economical  dinner.  There  was  a 
place  on  Ann  Street,  where,  for  this  small  sum, 
a plate  of  meat  and  a potato  were  furnished,  but 
enough  only  to  whet  the  appetite  of  a hearty  boy 
like  Sam.  A suspicion  did  enter  his  mind  as  he 
arose  from  the  table  penniless  once  more,  and  his 
appetite  still  unsatisfied,  that  he  had  bought  his 
liberty  dearly,  if  his  affairs  did  not  improve.  In 
the  country  he  had  enough  to  eat,  a good  bed  to 
sleep  in,  and  no  care  or  anxiety,  while  he  was  not 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


171 

overworked.  Here  there  was  constant  anxiety, 
and  he  never  knew  when  he  arose  in  the  morning 
where  his  dinner  was  to  come  from,  or  whether 
he  would  be  able  to  buy  one.  Still  there  was  a 
fascination  in  the  free,  lawless  life,  and  if  he  could 
only  be  sure  of  making  fifty  cents  a day  he  would 
probably  have  preferred  it. 

It  is  not  necessary  to  describe  Sam’s  life  in  de- 
tail for  the  next  month.  He  and  Tim  were  con- 
stant companions;  and  under  Tim’s  instruction 
he  was  rapidly  acquiring  the-  peculiar  education  of 
a street  vagabond.  Of  his  employments  in  that 
brief  period  it  would  be  difficult  to  give  a com- 
plete list.  At  one  time  he  blacked  boots  for  an- 
other boy,  to  whom  he  paid  half  his  receipts,  in 
return  for  the  use  of  the  box  and  blacking.  But 
Sam  was  detected  by  his  employer  in  rendering  a 
false  account,  and  was  thrown  upon  his  own  re- 
sources again.  It  would  have  been  much  more 
to  his  interest  to  have  a blacking-brush  and  box 
of  his  own  ; but  whenever  Sam  had  capital  enough 
he  preferred  to  spend  it  for  a good  dinner,  so 
there  did  not  seem  much  chance  of  his  getting 
ahead.  He  had,  before  this  time,  been  introduced 


172 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


to  the  Newsboys’  Lodging  House,  where  he  was 
interrogated  about  his  past  life  by  the  superin- 
tendent. Sam  was  obliged  to  have  recourse  to 
his  imagination  in  reply,  feeling  that  if  he  spoke 
the  truth  he  would  be  liable  to  be  returned  to  his 
country  home. 

“Are  your  parents  living?”  inquired  Mr. 

O’Connor. 

No,”  said  Sam,  telling  the  truth  this  time. 

“ When  did  they  die?  ” 

“ Two  years  ago.” 

“ Did  they  die  in  New  York?  ” 

“ Yes,  sir.  They  died  of  smallpox,”  volun- 
teered Sam. 

“ And  you  have  been  supporting  yourself  since 

then?” 

“ Yes,  sir.” 

“ How  does  it  happen  that  you  have  not  been 

around  here  before  ? ” 

“ I was  living  with  my  uncle,”  answered  Sams 

hesitating. 

“ Why  have  you  left  him  ? ” 

“ He  didn’t  treat  me  well.” 


“ Perhaps  you  didn’t  behave  well.” 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


U3 


“ Oh,  yes,  I did.” 

“ What  is  your  uncle’s  name  ? ” 

“James  Cooper.” 

“ Where  does  he  live — in  what  street  ? ” 

“ He’s  moved  away  from  the  city  now,”  said 
Sam,  feeling  that  he  must  put  a stop  to  these  in- 
convenient inquiries. 

So  Sam  was  admitted  to  the  privileges  of  the 
lodging-house.  Now  he  found  it  much  easier  to 
get  along.  For  eighteen  cents  a day  he  was  pro- 
vided with  lodging,  breakfast,  and  supper,  and 
it  was  not  often  he  could  not  obtain  as  much  as 
that.  When  he  could  earn  enough  more  to  buy  a 
“ square  meal  ” in  the  middle  of  the  day,  and  a 
fifteen-cent  ticket  to  the  gallery  of  the  theater  in 
the  evening,  he  felt  happy.  He  was  fairly  adrift 
in  the  streets  of  the  great  city,  and  his  future 
prospects  did  not  look  very  brilliant.  It  is  hardly 
necessary  to  say  that  in  a moral  point  of  view  he 
had  deteriorated  rather  than  improved.  In  fact, 
he  was  fast  developing  into  a social  outlaw,  with 
no  particular  scruples  against  lying  or  stealing. 
One  thing  may  be  said  in  his  favor,  he  never 
made  use  of  his  strength  to  oppress  a younger 


*74 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


boy.  On  the  whole,  he  was  good-natured,  and 
not  at  all  brutal.  He  had  on  one  occasion  inter- 
fered successfully  to  protect  a young  boy  from 
one  of  greater  strength  who  was  beating  him.  I 
like  to  mention  this,  because  I do  not  like  to  have 
it  supposed  that  Sam  was  wholly  bad. 

We  will  now  advance  the  story  some  months, 
and  see  what  they  have  done  for  Sam. 

To  begin  with,  they  have  not  improved  his 
wardrobe.  When  he  first  came  to  the  city  he  was 
neatly,  though  coarsely,  dressed;  now  his  clothes 
hang  in  rags  about  him,  and,  moreover,  they  are 
begrimed  with  mud  and  grease.  His  straw  hat 
and  he  have  some  time  since  parted  company,  and 
he  now  wears  a greasy  article  which  he  picked  up 
at  a second-hand  store  in  Baxter  Street  for 
twenty-five  cents.  If  Sam  were  troubled  with 
vanity,  he  might  feel  disturbed  by  his  disreputable 
condition,  but  as  he  sees  plenty  of  other  boys  of 
his  own  class  no  better  dressed,  he  thinks  very 
little  about  it.  Such  as  they  are,  his  clothes  are 
getting  too  small  for  him,  for  Sam  has  grown  a 
couple  of  inches  since  he  came  to  the  city. 

Such  was  our  hero’s  appearance  when  one  day 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW  175 

he  leaned  against  a building  on  Broadway,  and 
looked  lazily  at  the  vehicles  passing,  wishing 
vaguely  that  he  had  enough  money  to  buy  a 
square  meal.  A Broadway  car  was  passing  at  the 
time.  A small  man,  whose  wrinkled  face  indi- 
cated that  he  was  over  sixty,  attempted  to  descend 
from  the  car  while  in  motion.  In  some  way  he 
lost  his  footing,  and,  falling,  managed  to  sprain 
his  ankle,  his  hat  falling  off  and  rolling  along  on 
the  pavement. 

Sam,  who  was  always  on  the  lookout  for 
chances,  here  saw  an  opening.  He  dashed  for- 
ward, lifted  the  old  gentleman  to  his  feet,  and 
ran  after  his  hat,  and  restored  it. 

“ Are  you  hurt  ? ” he  asked. 

“ I think  I have  sprained  my  ankle.  Help  me 
upstairs  to  my  office,”  said  the  old  man. 

He  pointed  to  a staircase  leading  up  from  the 
sidewalk. 

“ All  right,”  said  Sam.  “ Lean  on  me.” 


CHAPTER  XX 


SAM  GETS  INTO  A NEW  BUSINESS 

Sam  helped  the  old  man  up  two  flights  of 
Stairs. 

“ Shall  we  go  any  farther  ? ” he  asked. 

“ No;  that’s  my  office,”  said  his  companion, 
pointing  to  a door,  over  which  was  No.  io. 
From  his  pocket  he  drew  a key,  and  opened  the 
door.  Sam  entered  with  him.  The  room  was 
small.  One  corner  was  partitioned  off  for  an  inner 
office.  Inside  was  a chair,  something  like  a bar- 
ber’s chair,  and  a table  covered  with  instruments. 
Sam’s  curiosity  was  aroused.  He  wondered 
what  sort  of  business  was  carried  on  here.  He 
also  wondered  whether  he  would  get  anything 
for  his  trouble. 

“ If  you  don’t  want  me  any  longer,  I’ll  go,” 
he  said,  by  way  of  a delicate  hint. 

“ Stop  a minute,”  said  the  old  man,  who  had 
limped  to  a sofa  in  the  outer  office,  and  sat  down. 

176 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW  i 77 

I guess  I’ll  get  something,”  thought  Sam, 
cheerfully  complying  with  the  request. 

“ What  do  you  do  for  a living?  ” asked  the  old 
man. 

“ Sometimes  I black  boots,  sometimes  I sell 
papers — anything  that’ll  pay.” 

“ What  are  you  doing  now?  ” 

“ Nothing.  Business  ain’t  good.” 

“ Would  you  like  something  to  do  ? ” 

Sam  gave  a glance  into  the  office,  and  an- 
swered dubiously,  “Yes.”  He  was  not  at  all 
clear  about  the  nature  of  the  employment  likely 
to  be  offered. 

“ Then  I may  be  able  to  give  you  a job.  Do 
you  know  my  business  ? ” 

“ No,  sir.” 

“ I’m  a corn  doctor — you’ve  heard  of  Dr.  Felix 
Graham,  the  celebrated  corn  doctor,  haven’t 
you  ? ” said  the  old  man  complacently. 

“ Yes,”  said  Sam,  thinking  that  this  was  the 
answer  expected. 

“ Well,  I am  Dr.  Graham,”  said  the  old  mail 
proudly. 

“ Are  you,  ” said  Sam,  in  some  curiosity. 


178 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


“ Yes,  Now  I’ll  tell  you  what  I want  you  to 
do.  Go  and  bring  me  that  pile  of  circulars.” 

He  pointed  to  a pile  of  papers  on  the  floor  in 
the  corner. 

Sam  brought  them  as  directed. 

“ Can  you  read  ? ” asked  the  doctor. 

“ Yes,  sir,  a little.” 

“ Read  that  circular.” 

Sam  read  as  follows: 

“ DR.  FELIX  GRAHAM 
Chiropodist. 

Corns  and  Bunions  Cured  Without  Pain. 

Satisfaction  Guaranteed. 

708  Broadway,  Room  10.” 

Sam  bungled  over  the  word  chiropodist,  but 
was  put  right  by  the  doctor. 

“ I want  a boy  to  stand  at  the  door,  and  dis- 
tribute these  circulars,”  said  Dr.  Graham.  “ Can 
you  do  it  ? ” 

“ Of  course  I can,”  said  Sam.  “ What  pay 
will  I get?  ” 

“ Ten  cents  a hundred,”  said  the  doctor;  “ but 
you  mustn’t  do  as  my  last  boy  did.” 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


179 


“ How  did  he  do  ? ” asked  Sam. 

“ He  was  so  anxious  to  get  rid  of  them  that  he 
gave  half  a dozen  away  at  a time.  I caught  him 
at  it.  He  wanted  to  earn  money  too  fast.” 

“ He  was  smart,”  said  Sam,  with  a grin. 

“ I don’t  like  that  kind  of  smartness,”  said  the 
doctor  sharply.  “ I want  you  to  serve  me  faith- 
fully.” 

“ So  I will,”  said  Sam. 

“You  needn’t  give  to  everybody,  there  isn’t 
much  use  in  giving  to  children.” 

“ Yes,  sir.” 

“ But  if  you  see  anyone  walking  as  if  he  had 
corns,  be  sure  to  hand  him  one.” 

“ Yes,  sir.” 

“ Now  count  off  a hundred  of  the  circulars,  and 
go  down  stairs.” 

“ All  right,  sir.” 

This  was  the  first  regular  employment  Sam  had 
obtained,  and  he  felt  rather  important.  He  re- 
solved to  acquit  himself  to  the  satisfaction  of  the 
doctor.  In  his  zeal  he  even  determined  to  im- 
prove upon  his  instructions. 

He  had  no  sooner  taken  his  stand  than  he  saw  a 


i Bo  THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 

gentleman  and  lady  approaching.  They  were 
young,  and,  being  engaged,  were  indulging  in 
conversation  more  interesting  to  themselves  than 
anyone  else.  The  gentleman  had  on  a pair  of 
tight  boots,  and  from  his  style  of  walking  Sam 
concluded  that  he  was  a suitable  customer. 

“ Here,  sir,”  said  he,  pressing  a circular  into 
the  young  man’s  gloved  hand. 

“ What’s  that  ? ” asked  the  young  man.  Then 
glancing  at  it,  he  showed  it  with  a laugh  to  the 
young  lady. 

“ Look  here,  boy,”  he  said,  turning  to  Sam, 
“what  made  you  give  me  this?” 

“ You  walked  as  if  you’d  got  corns,”  said  Sam 
honestly.  “ Walk  right  up,  and  Dr.  Graham  will 
cure  ’em  in  a jiffy.” 

“ Perhaps  you’ll  tell  me  what  is  to  become  of 
this  young  lady  while  I go  up,  Johnny?  ” 

“ Maybe  she’s  got  corns,  too,”  said  Sam. 
“ She  can  go  up  too.” 

Both  the  lady  and  gentleman  laughed  convul- 
sively, considerably  to  Sam’s  surprise,  for  he  was 
not  aware  that  he  had  said  anything  unusual  or 
funny. 


fHE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


181 


“ Shall  we  go  up,  Eliza  ? ” asked  the  young 

man. 

The  only  answer  was  a laugh  and  they  passed 

on. 

The  next  one  who  attracted  Sam’s  attention 
was  an  elderly  maiden  lady. 

“ Have  you  got  corns,  ma’am  ? ” asked  Sam 
eagerly. 

Now  it  so  happened  that  the  lady  was  a little 
deaf,  and  did  not  understand  Sam’s  question. 
Unfortunately  for  herself,  she  stopped  short,  and 
inquired,  “ What  did  you  say?  ” 

“ I guess  she’s  hard  of  hearing,”  Sam  con- 
cluded, and  raising  his  voice  loud  enough  to  be 
heard  across  the  street,  he  repeated  the  question  : 
“ Have  you  got  corns,  ma’am  ? ” 

At  the  same  time  he  thrust  a circular  into  the 
hand  of  the  astonished  and  mortified  lady. 

Two  schoolgirls,  just  behind,  heard  the  ques- 
tion, and  laughed  heartily.  The  offended  lady 
dropped  the  paper  as  if  it  were  contamination, 
and  sailed  by,  her  sallow  face  growing  red  with 
anger. 

“ That’s  funny,”  thought  Sam. 


“I  don’t 


182 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


know  what’s  got  into  all  the  people.  Seems  to 
me  they’re  ashamed  of  havin’  corns.” 

The  next  half-dozen  took  circulars,  mechanic- 
ally glanced  at  them,  and  dropped  them  indiffetv 
ently. 

“ Guess  they  ain’t  got  corns,”  thought  the  ob- 
serving Sam. 

By  and  by  a countryman  came  along,  and  into 
his  hand  Sam  put  the  circular. 

“ What’s  this  ? ” he  asked. 

“ It’s  corns.  Just  go  upstairs,  and  the  doctor 
’ll  cure  ’em  less’n  no  time.” 

“ Wall,  I have  got  two,”  said  the  countryman. 
“ They  hurt  like  the  dickens,  too.  What  does 
this  doctor  charge  ? ” 

Sam  did  not  know,  but  he  was  not  the  boy  to 
allow  his  ignorance  to  appear. 

“ Ten  cents  apiece,”  he  answered. 

“ That’s  cheap  enough,  anyway,”  said  he. 
“ I’ve  got  a good  mind  to  go  up.  Where  is  it?  ” 

“ Come  along.  I’ll  show  you,”  said  Sam 
promptly. 

“ I guess  I may  as  well.  Are  you  sure  he  can 
cure  ’em?  ” 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


183 

“ I ought  to  know,”  said  Sam.  “ I had  one 
about  as  big  as  a marble  on  my  big  toe.  The 
doctor  cured  it  in  a minute.” 

“ You  don’t  say!  He  must  be  pooty  good.” 
“You  bet!  He’s  the  great  Dr.  Graham. 
Everybody’s  heard  of  him.” 

By  such  convincing  assurances  the  man’s  faith 
was  increased.  He  followed  Sam  into  the  doc- 
tor’s office. 

“ Here,”  said  Sam,  “ I’ve  brought  you  a cus- 
tomer, Dr.  Graham.  I told  him  you  could  cure 
his  corns  in  a jiffy.” 

The  doctor  smiled  approvingly. 

“ You  are  right  there.  My  friend,  sit  down  in 
this  chair.” 

“You  won’t  hurt,  will  you,  doctor?”  asked 
the  customer,  glancing  with  a little  alarm  at  the 
table  with  its  instruments. 

“ Oh,  no,  you’ll  scarcely  feel  it.” 

Sam  returned  to  his  post,  and  began  to  dis- 
tribute handbills  once  more. 

About  a quarter  of  an  hour  later  he  was  as- 
sailed by  an  angry  voice.  Looking  up,  he  saw  the 
customer  he  had  sent  upstairs. 


1 84  THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 

“ Look  here,  boy,”  he  said  angrily;  “ you  told 
me  a lie.” 

“ How  did  I ? ” asked  Sam. 

“ You  told  me  the  doctor  only  charged  ten 
cents  for  each  corn.  Jerusalem!  he  made  me 
fork  out  a dollar.” 

Sam  was  rather  surprised  himself  at  the  price. 

“ I guess  they  was  tough  ones,  mister,”  he  said. 
“ He  cured  ’em,  didn’t  he  ? ” 

“ Ye— es.” 

“ Then  it’s  worth  the  money.  You  don’t  want 
’em  back,  do  you  ? ” 

“ No,”  admitted  the  other,  “ but  it’s  a thun- 
derin’ sight  to  pay,”  and  he  went  off  grumbling. 

“ Don’t  the  doctor  make  money,  though  ? ” 
thought  Sam.  “ He’d  orter  give  me  a commis- 
sion on  them  two  dollars.” 


CHAPTER  XXI 


SAM  OBTAINS  A PLACE 

Having  disposed  of  his  circulars,  Sam  went  up 
to  the  office. 

“ Have  you  distributed  all  the  circulars  ? ” 
asked  the  doctor. 

“ Yes,  sir.” 

“Well,  here’s  the  ten  cents  I promised  you/* 

Sarp  took  it,  but  stood  his  ground. 

“ I sent  you  up  a customer,”  he  said. 

“A  patient;  yes.” 

“ And  you  made  two  dollars  out  of  him.” 

“ Who  told  you?” 

“ He  did.” 

“ I charged  him  my  regular  price.  What 
of  that  ? ” asked  the  doctor,  not  comprehending 
Sam’s  meaning. 

“ He  wouldn’t  have  come  up  if  it  hadn’t  been, 
for  me.  I think  I’d  ought  to  have  a commission.” 

“ Oh,  that’s  it,”  said  the  doctor.  “ That 

*85 


1 86 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


doesn’t  follow.  He  came  up  because  of  the  cir- 
cular.” 

“ No,  he  didn’t,”  said-  Sam.  “He  came  up 
because  I told  him  what  a great  doctor  you  was.” 

The  doctor  thought  over  Sam’s  proposal,  and, 
being  a sharp  man,  he  decided  that  it  was  for 
his  advantage  to  secure  an  alliance  with  him. 

“ You  are  right,”  he  said.  “ You  are  entitled 
to  something.” 

Sam  brightened  up. 

“ Here  is  a quarter  in  addition  to  the  ten  cents 
I just  gave  you.” 

“ Thank  you,  sir,”  said  Sam  gratified. 

“ Shall  I go  down,  and  give  away  some  more 
circulars?”  he  asked. 

“ Yes;  I’ll  give  you  another  hundred.  Don’t 
give  them  away  too  fast.  It’s  of  no  use  to  give 
to  children.” 

“ All  right,  sir.” 

So  Sam  went  down  into  the  street.  The  first 
passerby  was  a boy  of  twelve. 

“ Give  me  one  of  them  papers,”  he  said. 

Rather  to  his  surprise  Sam  did  not  immediately 
comply.  He  first  asked  a question. 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW  187 

<s  Have  you  got  a dollar  ? ” 

“A  dollar!  You  don’t  want  a dollar  for  that 
paper,  do  you  ? ” 

“ No;  but  I ain’t  goin’  to  waste  it  on  you  unless 
you’ve  got  a dollar.” 

“ What  do  I want  of  a dollar?  ” asked  the  boy, 
surprised.  * 

“To  pay  for  havin’  your  corn  cured.” 

The  boy  burst  into  a laugh. 

“ I ain’t  got  no  corns,”  he  said. 

“ Then  go  along,  and  don’t  bother  me. 
You’re  no  good.” 

A young  dandy  advanced,  dressed  in  the  height 
of  fashion,  swinging  a light  cane  in  his  lavender- 
gloved  hand.  A rose  was  in  his  button-hole,  and 
he  was  just  in  the  act  of  saluting  a young  lady, 
when  Sam  thrust  the  circular  into  his  hand. 

“ Go  right  upstairs,”  he  said,  “ and  get  your 
Corns  cured.  Only  a dollar.” 

The  young  lady  burst  into  a ringing  laugh,  and 
the  dandy  reddened  with  mortification. 

“ Keep  your  dirtv  paper  to  yourself,  boy,”  he 
said.  “ I am  not  troubled  with  those — ah,  ex- 
crescences.” 


188 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


“ I never  heard  of  them  things,”  said  Sam. 
**  I said  corns.” 

“ Stand  out  of  my  way,  boy,  or  I’ll  cane  you,” 
exclaimed  the  incensed  fop. 

“Your  cane  wouldn’t  hurt,”  said  Sam,  regard- 
ing the  slight  stick  with  disdain.  “ Never  mind; 
you  needn’t  go  up.  I don’t  believe  you’ve  got  a 
dollar.” 

This  was  rather  impudent  of  Sam,  I acknowl- 
edge, and  the  dandy  would  have  been  glad  to 
chastise  him. 

“ Miss  Winslow,”  he  said,  “ I hope  you  won’t 
mind  the  rudeness  of  this  young — ah,  raga- 
muffin.” 

“ Oh,  I don’t,”  said  the  young  lady  merrily; 

“ he  amuses  me.” 

“ So  he  does  me;  ha ! ha ! very  good  joke,”  said 
the  dandy,  laughing  too,  but  not  very  merrily. 
“ I hope  you  are  quite  well  to-day.” 

“ Thank  you,  quite  so.  But  don’t  let  me  detain 
you,  if  you  have  an  engagement  upstairs.” 

“ I assure  you,”  protested  the  young  man  hur- 
riedly, “ that  I have  no  intention  of  going  up  at 
all.” 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


189 


“ Then  I must  say  good-morning,  at  any  rate, 
as  I am  out  shopping,”  and  the  young  lady  passed 

on. 

“ I’ve  a great  mind  to  flog  you,”  said  the 
dandy,  frowning  at  Sam.  “ I would  if  you 
wasn’t  so  dirty.  I wouldn’t  like  to  soil  my  hands 
by  taking  hold  of  you.” 

“ That’s  lucky  for  you,”  said  Sam  coolly. 

The  answer  was  a withering  frown,  but  Sam 
was  tough,  and  not  easily  withered. 

“ Ain’t  he  stuck  up,  though  ? ” thought  he,  as 
the  young  man  left  him.  “ He  don’t  seem  to  like 
me  much.” 

“ Have  you  got  any  corns,  sir  ? ” he  asked, 
thrusting  a paper  into  the  hands  of  a portly  gen- 
tleman with  a merry  face. 

The  gentleman  laughed. 

“ Really,  my  boy,”  he  said,  “ that  is  a very 
singular  question.” 

“ Is  it  ? ” said  Sam.  “ I don’t  know  why.” 

“ Why  do  you  ask?  ” 

“ Because  Dr.  Graham  upstairs  will  cure  you 
before  you  know  it.  It’s  only  a dollar.” 

“ You  are  sure  you  are  not  Dr.  Graham,  your- 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


*9° 

self  ? ” said  the  stout  man,  regarding  Sam  with 
an  amused  expression. 

“ If  I was,  I’d  wear  better  clothes,”  said  Sam. 
“ He  makes  lots  of  money,  the  doctor  does.” 

/ “ You’d  better  learn  the  business,  my  young 
friend.” 

“ I guess  I will,  if  he’ll  learn  me,”  said  Sam. 
“It’ll  pay  better  than  standin’  here,  givin’  away 
papers.” 

“ Don’t  that  pay?  ” 

“ Not  very  well,”  said  Sam.  “ I only  get  ten 
cents  a hundred.” 

“ Can  you  pay  your  board  out  of  that  ? ” 

“ No;  but  I make  commission,  besides,”  said 
Sam. 

“How  is  that?”  asked  the  stout  gentleman, 
in  some  curiosity. 

“ If  you’d  gone  upstairs,  and  had  two  corns 
cured,  the  doctor — would  have  given  me  a quar- 
ter.” 

“ Would  he,  really?  ” 

“ Yes,  he  would.  Hadn’t  you  better  go?  ” 

“ I have  no  occasion  for  Dr.  Graham’s  ser- 
vices at  present,”  said  the  gentleman,  laughing; 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW  191 

" but  still  I don’t  want  you  to  lose  by  me.  Here’s 
a quarter,”  producing  the  same  from  his  vest 
pocket,  and  giving  it  to  Sam.  “ Isn’t  that  just 
as  well  as  if  I had  gone  up  ? ” 

“ Thank  you,  sir.  You’re  a gentleman,”  said 
Sam.  “ Do  you  come  by  here  often?  ” 

His  new  acquaintance  laughed.  “ Every  day,” 
he  answered,  “ but  I don’t  give  away  quarters 
every  day.  If  you  expect  that,  I am  afraid  I 
shall  have  to  walk  on  the  other  side  of  the  street. 
Good-morning,  and  success  to  you.” 

“ Good-mornin’,”  said  Sam. 

“ Well,  here’s  luck,”  thought  Sam,  “ I like 
this  business  pretty  well.  I’ve  made  sixty  cents 
already,  and  the  doctor’s  goin’  to  pay  me  ten 
cents  more.  That’ll  buy  me  a good,  square  din- 
ner, and  take  me  to  the  theater  besides.” 

So  Sam  continued  distributing  his  circulars. 
Some  into  whose  hands  they  were  thrust  did  not 
appear  to  be  suitably  grateful ; and,  though  on  the 
lookout  for  a customer,  he  did  not  succeed  in  find- 
ing any,  till  by  good  luck  the  last  circular  was 
placed  in  the  hands  of  a man  who  was  in  search 
of  just  the  relief  which  it  promised. 


192 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


“ Where  is  Dr.  Graham’s  office  ? ” he  inquired. 

“ Right  upstairs,  No.  10,”  said  Sam  eagerly. 
“ You  just  follow  me,  I’ll  show  you.” 

“ I think  I can  find  it  without  you,”  said  the 
other. 

“ Oh,  I can  go  up  just  as  well  as  not,”  said 
Sam,  who  had  a special  object,  as  we  know,  in 
serving  as  guide. 

“ Very  well.  Go  ahead,  and  I will  follow 
you.” 

Upstairs  went  Sam,  the  new  patient  following 
him. 

“ I’ve  brought  another,”  said  Sam,  as  he  burst 
into  the  office. 

The  doctor,  though  glad  of  another  patient, 
was  rather  vexed  at  the  style  of  Sam’s  announce- 
ment. 

“Very  well,”  he  said.  “Sit  down  there,  till 
I have  leisure  to  attend  to  you.” 

“ All  right,  sir,”  said  Sam,  sitting  down  on  the 
sofa  in  the  outer  office,  and  taking  up  the  morn- 
ing “ Herald.” 

In  twenty  minutes  the  patient  departed,  re- 
lieved. 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


193 


“ Now,”  said  Dr.  Graham,  addressing  Sam,  “ I 
have  something  to  say  to  you.  When  you  bring 
in  a patient  again,  don’t  break  out  as  you  did  just 
now : ‘ I’ve  brought  another.’  I was  very  much 
mortified.” 

“ What  shall  I say  then  ? ” asked  Sam. 

“ You  needn’t  say  anything,  except  ‘ This  is 
Dr.  Graham,  sir.’  ” 

“ Very  well,”  said  Sam,  “ I’ll  remember. 
How  much  did  you  make  out  of  him  ? ” 

“ Don’t  speak  in  that  way.  My  charges  were 
three  dollars.” 

“ How  much  are  you  going  to  give  me  ? ” 

“ There’s  thirty  cents.” 

“ I think  I’ll  go  and  get  some  dinner,  now,” 
said  Sam.  “ Will  you  want  me  to-morrow?  ” 

“ I’ve  been  thinking,”  said  the  doctor,  “ that  I 
would  engage  you  as  my  office  boy.” 

“ What  would  I have  to  do  ? ” 

“ Stay  in  the  office  when  I am  away,  and  dis~ 
tribute  circulars  when  I want  you  to.” 

“ How  much  will  you  pay  me  ? ” 

“ Three  dollars  a week.” 


“ And  commission,  too  ? ” 


194 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


“ No;  we’ll  say  four  dollars  without  commfe* 
sion.” 

“All  right,  sir.  I’ll  be  on  hand  to-morrow 
mornin’.” 

“ I’ve  got  a place,  at  last,”  thought  Sam,  in  ex- 
ultation. “ Now,  I’ll  go  to  dinner.” 


CHAPTER  XXII 


THE  YOUNG  DOCTOR 

The  fact  that  he  had  obtained  a place  saw 
Sam  a new  sense  of  importance.  Having-  drifted 
about  the  city  streets  for  six  months,  never  know- 
ing in  the  morning  where  his  meals  were  to  come 
from  during  the  day,  or  whether  he  was  to  have 
any,  it  was  pleasant  to  think  that  he  was  to  have 
regular  wages.  He  presented  himself  in  good 
season  the  next  morning. 

He  was  waiting  outside  when  the  doctor  ar- 
rived. 

“ So  you  are  on  hand,”  said  Dr.  Graham. 

“ Yes,  sir.” 

“ By  the  way,  what  is  your  name  ? ” 

“ Sam  Barker.” 

“ Very  well,  Sam,  come  upstairs  with  me.” 

Sam  followed  the  doctor  to  his  office. 

The  doctor  surveyed  his  young  assistant  with 
critical  eyes. 


195 


196 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


“ Where  do  you  buy  your  clothes  ? ” he  asked. 
“ I haven’t  bought  any,”  said  Sam.  “ I 
brought  these  from  the  country.” 

“ They  seem  to  be  considerably  the  worse  for 
wear.  In  fact,  your  appearance  doesn’t  do  credit 
to  my  establishment.” 

“I  do  look  rather  ragged,”  said  Sam;  “but  I 
haven’t  got  enough  money  to  buy  any  new 
clothes.” 

“ I have  a son  two  years  older  than  you.  He 
may  have  some  old  clothes  that  would  suit  you. 
I’ll  have  a bundle  made  up  and  brought  down  to 
the  office  to-morrow.” 

“ Thank  you,  sir,”  said  Sam. 

The  doctor  kept  his  promise,  and  the  next  day 
our  hero  was  enabled  to  throw  aside  his  rags, 
and  attire  himself  in  a neat  gray  suit,  which  con- 
siderably improved  his'outward  appearance. 

“Now,”  said  the  doctor,  “ I would  suggest 
that  a little  more  attention  to  washing  would  be 
of  advantage  to  you.” 

“ All  right,  sir;  I’ll  remember.” 

Sam  scrubbed  himself  to  a considerable  degree 
of  cleanness,  and  combed  his  hair.  The  ultimate' 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW  197 

result  of  all  this  was  a very  creditable  looking 
office  boy. 

“ Now,”  said  the  doctor,  “ I expect  you  to  be 
faithful  to  my  interests.” 

Sam  readily  promised  this.  Already  he 
formed  glowing  anticipations  of  learning  the  busi- 
ness, and  succeeding  the  doctor;  or,  at  any  rate, 
being  admitted  to  partnership  at  some  future  day. 

Several  weeks  passed  by.  Considering  his 
previous  course  of  life,  Sam  acquitted  himself 
very  well.  He  opened  the  office  in  the  morn- 
ing, swept  it  out,  and  got  it  in  order  before  the 
doctor  arrived.  During  the  day  he  ran  on  er- 
rands, distributed  circulars,  in  fact,  made  himself 
generally  useful.  The  doctor  was  rather  irregular 
in  coming  in  the  morning,  so  that  Sam  was  some- 
times obliged  to  wait  for  him  two  or  three  hours. 
One  morning,  when  sitting  at  his  ease  reading  the 
paper,  he  was  aroused  by  a knock  at  the  door. 

He  arose  and  opened  it. 

“Is  the  doctor  in?”  asked  a young  man  of 
Irish  extraction. 

“ Hasn’t  come  yet,”  said  Sam.  “ Would  you. 
like  to  see  him  ? ” 


198 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


“ I would  thin.  He’s  the  man  that  cures  corns, 
isn’t  he?” 

“ Yss,”  said  Sam.  “ He’s  the  best  corn  doctor 
in  the  city.  ” 

“ Thin  I’ve  come  to  the  right  place,  sure.” 

“ Have  you  got  one?  ” 

“ I’ve  got  a murtherin’  big  one.  It  almost  kills 
me.” 

“ Step  in  and  wait  for  the  doctor.  He  will  be 
in  soon.” 

“ I’m  in  a great  hurry,”  said  the  young  man. 
“ It’s  a porter  I am  in  a store  downtown,  and  I 
can’t  stay  long.  How  much  does  the  doctor 
charge  ? ” 

“ A dollar  for  each  corn.” 

“ Oh,  murder ! does  he  now  ? ” 

“ Isn’t  it  worth  that  ? ” 

“ It’s  a mighty  big  price  to  pay.” 

“You  see,”  said  Sam,  “he’s  a famous  doctor; 
that’s  why  he  charges  so  much.” 

“ I don’t  care  for  that  at  all.  I’m  a poor  man, 
and  it’s  hard  on  me  payin’  that  much.” 

Here  an  idea  struck  Sam.  He  had  often  wit- 
nessed the  doctor’s  operations,  and  to  his  inex- 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


199 


perienced  mind  they  seemed  easy  enough  to  per- 
form. Why  couldn’t  he  operate  a little  on  his 
own  account  before  the  doctor  came  ? By  so  do- 
ing he  would  make  a little  money,  and  if  success- 
ful he  would  have  a future  source  of  revenue,  as 
patients  often  came  when  he  was  alone. 

“ I’m  the  doctor’s  assistant,”  he  commenced. 

“ Are  you  now  ? So  you’re  the  young 
doctor  ? ” 

“ Yes,”  said  Sam. 

“ Then  it’s  a mighty  young  doctor  ye  are.” 

“ I know  it,”  said  Sam.  “ I’ve  learnt  the 
trade  of  Dr.  Graham.” 

“ Do  you  work  at  it  much  ? ” asked  the  pa- 
tient. 

“ Yes,”  said  Sam,  “ when  the  doctor’s  away. 
I ain’t  as  good  as  he  is,”  he  admitted  candidly, 
“ and  that  is  why  I work  cheaper.” 

“ You  work  cheaper,  do  yer  ? ” 

“ Yes,”  said  Sam,  “ I only  charge  half  price.” 
“ That’s  fifty  cents.” 

“ Yes.” 

“ And  do  you  think  you  could  cure  me  ? ” 

“ Of  course  I could,”  said  Sam  confidently. 


200 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


“Then  go  ahead,”  said  the  Irishman,  in  a fit 
of  reckless  confidence  which  he  was  destined  to 
repent. 

“ Sit  down  there,”  said  Sam,  pointing  out  the 

patient’s  chair. 

The  patient  obeyed. 

“ Now  take  off  your  boots.  You  don’t  think 
I am  going  to  cut  through  the  boot,  do  you?  ” 

He  was  obeyed. 

Sam  began  to  fumble  among  the  sharp  instru- 
ments. 

“ What  are  you  goin’  to  do  ? ” asked  the  pa- 
tient, rather  alarmed. 

“ Oh,  don’t  be  afraid,”  said  Sam.  “ You 
won’t  feel  it.” 

“Won’t  feel  the  knife?” 

“ No,  I am  going  to  put  on  some  liquid  that’ll 
take  away  the  feeling.” 

“ Shure  you  ought  to  know,”  said  the  patient, 
his  confidence  returning. 

“ Of  course  I do,”  said  Sam. 

“ Now  sit  still.” 

Thus  far  Sam  was  perfectly  self-possessed.  He 
went  about  his  preparations  with  an  air  that  im- 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


201 


posed  upon  the  patient.  But  the  difficulty  was 
to  come. 

Things  which  look  easy  often  are  found  difficult 
when  attempted.  When  Sam  began  to  wield  the 
doctor’s  instruments  he  did  so  awkwardly.  He 
lacked  that  delicacy  of  touch  which  can  only  be 
acquired  by  practice,  and  the  result  was  tragical. 
The  knife  slipped,  inflicting  a deep  gash,  and 
causing  a quick  flow  of  blood. 

“ Oh,  murder,  I’m  kilt ! ” exclaimed  the  terri- 
fied patient,  bounding  to  his  feet,  and  rushing 
frantically  around  the  room.  “ I’m  bladin’  to 
death.” 

Sam  was  almost  equally  frightened.  He 
stood,  with  the  knife  in  his  hand,  panic-stricken. 

“ I’ll  have  you  up  for  murder,  I will ! ” shouted 
Mr.  Dennis  O’Brien,  clutching  the  wounded  mem- 
ber. “ Oh,  why  did  I ever  come  to  a boy  doc- 
tor ? Oh,  whirra,  whirra ! ” 

“ I didn’t  mean  to  do  it,”  said  Sam,  frightened. 

“ You’ll  be  hanged  for  killin’  me,  bad  ’cess  to 
you.  Go  for  a doctor,  quick.” 

Almost  out  of  his  wits,  Sam  was  about  to  obey, 
when,  as  he  opened  the  door,  he  confronted  his 


202  THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


employer.  Under  ordinary  circumstances  he 
would  have  been  sorry  to  have  him  come  in  so 
soon.  Now  he  was  glad. 

“ What’s  the  meaning  of  all  this  ? ” asked  Dr. 
Graham,  surveying  with  astonishment  the  Irish- 
man prancing  around  the  office,  and  Sam’s  scared 
face.  - 

“ He’s  kilt  me,  doctor,”  said  Dennis,  groaning. 

“He?  Who?” 

“ The  young  doctor,  shure.” 

“Who’s  he?” 

“That’ s the  one,”  said  Mr.  O’Brien,  pointing 
to  Sam.  “ He’s  cut  my  toe  off,  and  I’m  bladin’ 
to  death.” 

“ What  does  this  mean,  Sam?  ’’  said  the  doctor 
sternly. 

“ He  was  in  a hurry,”  stammered  Sam,  “ and 
I didn’t  want  him  to  go  away,  so  I thought  I’d 
try  to  cure  him,  but  the  knife  slipped,  and ” 

“ I’ll  attend  to  your  case  afterward.  Sit  down, 
sir.” 

“Will  I die?”  asked  Dennis  lugubriously. 

“No  danger  now.  You  might,  if  I hadn’t 
come  just  as  I did.” 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


203 


Matters  were  soon  remedied,  and  Dennis  went 
away  relieved,  well  satisfied  because  the  doctor 
declined,  under  the  circumstances,  to  receive  any 

fee. 

“ Now  Sam,”  said  the  doctor,  after  he  had 
gone,  “ what  do  you  mean  by  such  work  as 
this?” 

“ I thought  I could  do  it,”  said  Sam,  abashed. 
“ I ought  to  turn  you  away  for  this.” 

“ It  was  only  a mistake,”  said  Sam. 

“ It  came  near  being  a very  serious  mistake. 
What  would  you  have  done  if  I had  not  come 
just  as  I did?  ” 

“ I don’t  know,”  said  Sam. 

“ Never  touch  my  instruments  again.  If  you 
do  I shall  discharge  you  at  once;  that  is,  after 
giving  you  a sound  flogging.” 

Sam  felt  that  he  had  got  off  easily,  and  deter- 
mined not  to  set  up  again  as  doctor  on  his  owa 
account. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 


SAM  FALLS  INTO  BAD  COMPANY 

For  a time  matters  went  on  smoothly,  Sam 
>mts  abashed  by  the  result  of  his  experiment,  and 
discouraged  from  making  another.  He  felt  that 
he  had  a good  place.  Living  chiefly  at  the  lodg- 
ing house,  his  expenses  were  small,  and  four  dol- 
lars a week  were  ample  to  meet  them.  There 
was  one  thing  he  missed,  however — the  freedom 
to  roam  about  the  streets  at  will.  He  felt  this 
the  more  when  the  pleasant  spring  weather  came 
on.  There  were  times  when  he  got  sick  of  the 
close  confinement,  and  longed  to  leave  the 
office. 

It  was  a bright  morning  in  May  when  Dr, 
Graham  called  from  the  inner  office: 

“ Sam ! ” 

“ What,  sir?” 

“ Do  you  know  the  way  to  Brooklyn  ? ” 

“Yes,  sir.” 


204 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


205 


“ I want  you  to  go  over  there  for  me.” 

“ All  right,  sir.” 

It  may  be  explained  that  Dr.  Graham,  on  the 
first  of  May,  had  moved  over  to  Brooklyn,  and 
was  occupying  a house  about  a mile  from  Fulton 

Ferry. 

“ I want  you  to  go  to  my  house,”  said  the  doc- 
tor, “ No.  — H Street,  and  carry  this  letter 

to  my  wife.” 

' “ Yes,  sir.” 

“ I forgot  entirely  to  leave  her  some  money 
to  meet  a bill;  but  if  you  go  at  once  it  will  reach 
her  in  time.  Stay,  I’ll  give  you  the  address  on  a 
card.” 

“ All  right,  sir.” 

“ Here  is  a quarter.  It  will  pay  your  car  fare, 
and  over  the  ferry  both  ways.  Now,  mind  you 
come  back  as  quick  as  you  can.” 

This  Sam  readily  promised.  He  was  glad  to 
get  away  for  the  morning,  as  he  calculated  that 
the  expedition  would  take  him  nearly,  or  quite, 
three  hours.  He  took  a car  and  got  out  at  the 
Astor  House.  On  his  way  down  to  the  ferry  he 
met  an  old  street  acquaintance — Jim  Nolan. 


206 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


“ How  are  you,  Sam?  ” said  Jim. 

“ Tiptop ! ” answered  Sam. 

“ Where  do  you  keep  yourself  ? Are  you 
blackin’  boots  now  ? ” 

“ No,”  answered  Sam,  with  rather  an  impor- 
tant air.  “ I’m  in  an  office.” 

“ How  much  do  you  get?  ” 

“ Four  dollars  a week.” 

“ That’s  good.  How’d  you  get  it  ? ” 

“ Oh,  the  doctor  took  a fancy  to  me,  and  asked 
me  to  come.” 

“ You’re  in  luck.  So  you’re  with  a doc- 
tor?” 

“ Yes — Dr.  Graham.  He’s  a corn  doctor.” 

“ Where  does  he  hang  out  ? ” 

“ No.  — Broadway.” 

“ Do  you  have  much  to  do  ? ” 

“ Not  very  much.” 

“ How  do  you  come  down  here,  then?” 

“ I’m  takin’  a letter  to  Brooklyn  for  the 
doctor.” 

“ Are  you?” 

“Yes,”  said  Sam;  adding  unluckily,  “there’s 
money  in  it.” 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW  207 

“Is  there?”  said  Jim,  pricking  up  his  ears. 

How  do  you  know  there  is  ? Let’s  see  the 
letter.” 

Sam  took  the  letter  from  his  inside  coat  pocket, 
and  passed  it  to  Jim. 

The  latter  held  it  up  to  the  light,  and  tried  to 
look  inside.  Fortune  favored  his  efforts.  The 
envelope  was  imperfectly  fastened,  and  came 
open. 

“ There,  Jim,”  said  Sam,  “ now  see  what  you’ve 
done.” 

“ Let’s  look  inside,  and  see  how  much  money 
there  is,”  suggested  Jim. 

Sam  hesitated. 

“ It  won’t  do  any  harm  to  look  at  it,”  said  the 
tempter. 

“ That’s  so,”  said  Sam. 

He  accordingly  drew  out  the  inclosure,  and  dis- 
closed two  ten-clollar  bills. 

Jim’s  eyes  sparkled  with  greed. 

“Twenty  dollars!”  he  exclaimed.  “What  a 
lot  of  good  that  would  do  us ! ” 

Sam’s  principles  were  not  firm,  but  he  had  a 
good  place,  and  the  temptation  was  not  as  strong 


208 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


as  in  Jim’s  case;  so  he  answered:  “Maybe  it 

■s*  ; 

would,  but  it  ain’t  ours.” 

Jim  fastened  his  little  black  eyes  on  Sam  cun- 
ningly. 

“ It  might  be,”  he  answered. 

“ How  could  it  be?  ” 

“ You  could' keep  it.” 

“ The  doctor’d  find  it  out.” 

“ Tell  him  somebody  hooked  it  out  of  your 
pocket.  He  wouldn’t  know.” 

Sam  shook  his  head. 

“ I ain’t  goin’  to  lose  a good  place  just  for 
that,”  he  said. 

“ Think  what  a lot  of  things  you  could  do  for 
ten  dollars,”  urged  Jim. 

“ Twenty,  you  mean.” 

“ That’s  ten  apiece,  isn’t  it  ? ” 

“Oh,  you  want  some,  do  you?”  inquired 
Sam. 

“Yes;  I’ll  take  it  from  you,  and  then  give 
you  back  half.  So  it’ll  be  me  that  stole  it.  They 
can’t  do  nothin’  to  you.  Come,  I’ll  go  over  to 
Brooklyn  with  you,  and  then  you  can  make  up 
your  mind.” 


THE  YOUNG'  OUTLAW  209 

On  board  the  boat  Jim  renewed  his  persua- 
sions, and  finally J5am  yielded. 

“ I’m  afraid  the  doctor  ’ll  think  I took  it,”  he 

said. 

“ No  matter!  He  can’t  prove  nothin’.” 

“ We’ll  find  it  hard  totchange  the  bills.” 

“ No,  we  won’t.  I’ll  tell  you  where  to  go. 
Can  you  play  billiards  ? ” 

“ No;  but  I’d  like  to  learn.” 

“ I know,  and  I’ll  learn  you.  There’s  a saloon 
over  in  Brooklyn  where  we  can  go  and  have  a 
game.  We’ll  pay  out  of  one  of  the  bills.” 

Now  Sam  had  long  wanted  to  learn  the  game 
of  billiards,  and  this  seemed  a good  opportunity. 
Perhaps  this  consideration  as  much  as  any  de- 
termined him  to  close  with  his  friend’s  proposal. 
When,  therefore,  they  had  reached  the  Brooklyn 
side,  instead  of  taking  the  trolley  cars  to  Dr. 
Graham’s  house,  Sam  followed  his  companion  to 
a low  billiard  saloon  not  far  away. 

There  were  four  tables,  one  of  which  only  was 
occupied,  for  it  was  too  early.  On  one  side  of 
the  room  was  a bar,  behind  which  stood  a man 
in  his  shirt-sleeves. 


210 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


“Well,  boys,  what  do  you  want?”  he  asked. 

“We  want  a table,”  said  Jim.  “We’re  goin’ 
to  play  a game.” 

The  man  in  the  shirt-sleeves  produced  from 
underneath  the  counter  a green  pasteboard  box, 
containing  four  ivory  billiard  balls. 

“ What  table  will  you  have  ? ” he  asked. 

“ This  one  here,”  said  Jim,  leading  the  way  to 
one  farthest  from  the  door. 

“ Now  take  a cue,  Sam,”  he  said.  “ We’ll 
have  a jolly  game.” 

“ You  must  tell  me  how  to  play.” 

“ Oh,  I’ll  learn  you.” 

Jim  was  not  a very  skillful  player,  but  he  knew 
something  of  the  game,  and  under  his  instruction 
Sam  made  some  progress,  being  able  to  make  a 
shot  now  and  then.  He  was  very  much  pleased 
with  the  game,  and  determined  to  devote  his 
spare  earnings  to  this  form  of  recreation  here- 
after. When  the  game  was  ended,  a full  hour 
had  passed. 

“ I didn’t  think  it  was  so  late,”  said  Sam,  start- 
ing. “ I shall  have  to  go.” 

“ Go  and  pay  for  the  game  first.” 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


21 1 


“ You  ought  to  pay  half.” 

“ No ; I beat.  The  one  that  loses  the  game 
has  to  pay.” 

“ Of  course  you  beat.  It  was  my  first  game.” 
“ Never  mind.  You’ll  soon  play  as  well  as  I, 
and  then  I shall  have  to  pay  half  the  time.” 

“ Do  you  think  I’ll  improve?  ” 

“ Of  course  you  will.  We’ll  play  again  to- 
night.” 

“ Here?” 

‘fNo,  in  New  York.  I’ll  show  you  a good 
saloon  in  Chatham  Street.” 

Sam  stepped  up  to  the  counter. 

“ How  much  do  you  want  ? ” he  asked. 

“ Sixty  cents.” 

“ It’s  only  twenty-five  cents  a game,”  said  Jim 
Nolan. 

“ Your  game  was  longer  than  two  ordinary 
ones.  I’ll  call  it  fifty  cents.” 

Sam  produced  the  ten-dollar  bill,  and  received 
in  return  nine  dollars  and  a half.  The  clerk  was 
rather  surprised  at  a boy  presenting  so  large  a 
bill.  He  suspected  that  it  was  not  come  by  hon- 
estly; but,  as  he  argued,  that  was  none  of  his 


212  THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 

business.  What  he  cared  for  most  was  to  get 
paid  for  the  billiards.  So  Sam,  who  had  felt  a 
little  uneasy  about  offering  the  money,  was  more 
at  his  ease. 

“ We  had  a goo'd  game,  didn’t  we  ? ” said  Jim. 

“ Yes,”  said  Sam. 

“ And  you  did  bully  for  the  first  time.  I 
couldn’t  play  so  well  my  first  game.” 

Sam  felt  flattered  by  this  compliment  from  his 
companion. 

“ Now  I must  go  back,”  he  said. 

“ I’ll  go  along  back  with  you.  But  we’ll  take 
a drink  first.  I want  to  change  my  bill,  too.” 

“Why  didn’t  you  do  it  in  the  billiard  saloon? 
They  had  a bar  there?  ” 

“They  might  suspect  something  if  both  of  us 
offered  tens.  Here’s  a place  close  by.  Come 
in  here.” 

Jim  led  the  way  into  a drinking-saloon,  and 
Sam  followed. 

“It’s  my  treat,”  said  Jim.  “ What  ’ll  you' 
have  ? ” 

“ What  are  you  goin’  to  take  ? ” 

“ A.  whisky  punch.” 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


213 


“ I’ll  take  one,  too.” 

“ Two  whisky  punches,  and  mind  you  make 
’em  stiff,”  said  Jim. 

He  tossed  down  his  glass,  but  Sam  drank  more 
slowly. 

Jim  paid  for  the  drinks,  and  they  went  out  into 
the  street. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 


sam’s  excuses 

Sam  was  not  used  to  liquor,  and  was  more 
easily  affected  than  most.  When  he  got  out  into 
the  street  his  head  spun  round,  and  he  staggered. 
His  companion  observed  it. 

“ Why,  you  don’t  mean  to  say  yer  tight, 
Sam  ? ” he  said,  pausing  and  looking  at  him. 

“ I don’t  know  what  it  is,”  said  Sam,  “ but  I 
feel  queer.” 

“ Kinder  light  in  the  head,  and  shaky  in  the 
legs?” 

“ Yes,  that’s  the  way  I feel.” 

“ Then  you’re  drunk.” 

“ Drunk!”  ejaculated  Sam,  rather  frightened, 
for  he  was  still  unsophisticated  compared  with 
his  companion. 

“ Just  so.  I say,  you  must  be  a chicken  to  get 
tight  on  one  whisky  punch,”  added  Jim  rather 
contemptuously. 


214 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW  215 

“ It  was  strong,”  said  Sam,  by  way  of  apology, 
leaning  against  a lamp  post  for  support. 

“ It  was  stiffish,”  said  Jim.  “ I always  take 
’em  so.” 

“And  don’t  you  feel  it  at  all?”  queried 
Sam. 

“ Not  a bit,”  said  Jim  decidedly.  “ I ain’t  a 
baby.” 

“ Nor  I either,”  said  Sam,  with  a spark  of  his 
accustomed  spirit.  “ Only  I ain’t  used  to  it.” 

“ Why,  I could  take  three  glasses,  one  after 
the  other,  without  gettin’  tight,”  said  Jim 
proudly.  “ I tell  you,  I’ve  got  a strong 
stomach.” 

“ I wish  I hadn’t  taken  the  drink,”  said  Sam. 
“When  will  I feel  better?” 

“ In  an  hour  or  two/’ 

“ I can’t  go  back  to  the  doctor  this  way.  He’ll 
know  I’ve  been  drinkin’.  I wish  I could  lie 
down  somewhere,” 

“ I’ll  tell  you  what.  Come  round  to  the  ferry- 
room.  You  can  sit  down  there  till  you  feel 
better.” 

“ Give  me  your  arm,  Jim.  I’m  light-headed.” 


21 6 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


With  Jim’s  assistance  Sam  made  his  way  to 
Fulton  Ferry,  but  instead  of  going  over  in  the 
next  boat,  he  leaned  back  in  his  seat  in  the  wait- 
ing room,  and  rested.  Jim  walked  about  on  the 
pier,  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  with'  an  independ- 
ent air.  He  felt  happy  and  prosperous.  Never 
before  in  his  life,  probably,  had  he  had  so  much 
money  in  his  possession.  Some  men  with  a 
hundred  thousand  dollars  would  have* felt  poorer 
than  Jim  with  nine  dollars  and  a half. 

By  and  by  Sam  felt  enough  better  to  start  on 
his  homeward  journey.  Jim  agreed  to  accom- 
pany him  as  far  as  the  New  York  side. 

“ I don’t  know  what  the  doctor  will  say  when 
he  finds  out  the  money  is  gone,”  said  Sam 
soberly. 

“ You  just  tell  him  it  was  stolen  from  you  by 
a pickpocket.” 

“‘Suppose  he  don’t  believe  it?” 

“ He  can’t  prove  nothin’.” 

“ He  might  search  me.” 

“ So  he  might,”  said  Jim.  “ I’ll  tell  you  what 
you’d  better  do.” 

“ What?” 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW  217 

“ Just  give  me  the  money  to  keep  for  you. 
Then  if  he  searches  you,  he  won’t  find  it.” 

If  Jim  expected  this  suggestion  to  be 
adopted,  he  undervalued  Sam’s  shrewdness. 
That  young  man  had  not  knocked  about  the 
streets  eight  months  for  nothing.- 

“ I guess  not,”  said  Sam  significantly. 
“ Maybe  I wouldn’t  find  it  if  you  took  it.” 

“You  don’t  call  me  a thief,  do  you?”  de- 
manded Jim,  offended. 

“ It  looks  as  if  we  was  both  thieves,”  said  Sam 
candidly. 

“ You  needn’t  talk  so  loud,”  said  Jim  hur- 
riedly. “ There’s  no  use  in  tellin’  everybody  that 
I see.  I don’t  want  the  money,  only,  if  the  old 
man  finds  it,  don’t  blame  me.” 

“ You  needn’t  be  mad,  Jim,”  said  Sam.  “ I’ll 
need  the  money  myself.  I guess  I’ll  have  to 
hide  it.” 

“Do  you  wear  stockin’s?”  asked  Jim. 

“Yes;  don’t  you?” 

“ Not  in  warm  weather.  They  ain’t  no  good. 
They  only  get  dirty.  But  if  you  wear  ’em,  that’s 
the  place  to  hide  the  money.” 


218 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


“ I guess  you’re  right,”  said  Sam.  “ I 
wouldn’t  have  thought  of  it.  Where  can  I do 
it?” 

“ Wait  till  we’re  on  the  New  York  side.  You 
can  sit  down  on  one  of  the  piers  and  do  it.  No- 
body’ll see  you.” 

Sam  thought  this  good  advice,  and  decided  to 
follow  it. 

“There  is  some  use  in  stockin’s,”  said  Jim 
reflectively.  “ If  I was  in  your  place,  I wouldn’t 
know  where  to  stow  away  the  money.  Where 
'are  you  goin’  now?  ” 

“ I’ll  have  to  go  back,”  said  Sam.  “ I’ve  been 
a long  time  already.” 

“ I’m  going  to  get  some  dinner,”  said  Jim. 

“ I haven’t  got  time,”  said  Sam.  “ Besides,  I 
don’t  feel  so  hungry  as  usual.  I guess  it’s  the 
drink  I took.” 

“ It  don’t  take  away  my  appetite,”  said  his 
companion,  with  an  air  of  superiority. 

Sam  took  the  cars  home.  Knowing  what  he 
did,  it  was  with  an  uncomfortable  feeling  that 
he  ascended  the  stairs  and  entered  the  presence 
of  Dr.  Graham. 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


219 


The  doctor  looked  angry. 

“ What  made  you  so  long?  ” he  demanded 
abruptly.  “ Did  you  find  the  house?  ” 

“ No,”  answered  Sam,  wishing  that  his  em- 
barrassing explanations  were  fully  over.  “ No, 
I didn’t.” 

“You  didn’t  find  the  house!”  exclaimed  the 
doctor,  in  angry  surprise.  “ Why  didn’t  you  ? ” 

“ I thought  it  wasn’t  any  use,”  stammered 

Sam. 

“Wasn’t  any  use!”  repeated  the  chiropodist. 
“ Explain  yourself,  sir,  at  once.” 

“ As  long  as  I hadn’t  got  the  letter,”  pro- 
ceeded Sam. 

Now  the  secret  was  out. 

“ What  did  you  dp  with  the  letter  ? ” de- 
manded Dr.  Graham  suspiciously. 

“ I lost  it.” 

“ Lost  it ! How  could  you  lose  it  ? Didn't 
you  know  there  was'  money  in  it  ? ” said  his  em- 
ployer, looking  angry  and  disturbed. 

“Yes,  sir;  you  said  so.” 

“ Then  why  were  yon  not  careful  of  it,  yo® 
young  rascal  ? ” 


220 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


“ I was,  sir;  that  is,  I tried  to  be.  But  it  was 
stolen.” 

“ Who  would  steal  the  letter  unless  he  knew 
that  it  contained  money  ? ” 

“ That’s  it,  sir.  I ought  not  to  have  told  any- 
body.” 

“ Sit  down,  and  tell  me  all  about  it,  or  it  will 
be  the  worse  for  you,”  said  the  doctor. 

“ Now  for  it!  ” thought  Sam/ 

“ You  see,  sir,”  he  commenced,  “ I was  in  the 
trolley  cars  in  Brooklyn,  when  I saw  a boy  I 
knew.  We  got  to  talking,  and,  before  I knew  it, 
I told  him  that  I was  carryin’  a letter  with  money 
in  it.  I took  it  out  of  my  coat  pocket  and 
showed  it  to  him.” 

“ You  had  no  business  to  do  it,”  said  Dr.  Gra- 
ham. “ No  on.  but  a fool  would  show  a money- 
letter.  So  the  boy  stole  it,  did  he?  ” 

“ Oh,  no,”  said  Sam  hastily.  “ It  wa'sn’t 
he.” 

“ Who  was  it,  then  ? Don’t  be  all  day  telling 
your  story,”  said  the  doctor  irritably. 

“ There  was  a young  man  sitting  on  the  other 
side  of  me,”  said  Sam.  “ He  was  well-dressed. 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW  221 

and  I didn’t  think  he’d  do  such  a thing;  but  he 
must  have  stole  the  letter.” 

“ What  makes  you  think  so  ? ” 

“ He  got  out  only  two  or  three  minutes  after- 
ward, and  it  wasn’t  long  after  that  that  I missed 
the  letter.” 

“What  did  you  do?” 

“ I stopped  the  car,  and  went  back.  Jim  went 
back  along  with  me.  We  looked  all  round, 
tryin’  to  find  the  man,  but  we  couldn’t.” 

“ Of  course  you  couldn’t,”  growled  the  doctor. 
“ Did  you  think  he  would  stay  till  you  came  up  ? ” 
“ No,  sir.  That  is,  I didn’t  know  what  to 
think.  I felt  so  bad  about  losing  the  money,’* 
said  Sam  artfully. 

Now  this  story  was  on  the  whole  very  well  got 
up.  It  did  not  do  credit  to  Sam’s  principles, 
but  it  did  do  credit  to  his  powers  of  invention. 
It  might  be  true.  There  are  such  men  as  pick- 
pockets to  be  found  riding  in  our  city  cars,  as 
possibly  some  of  my  readers  may  have  occasion, 
to  know.  As  yet  Dr.  Graham  did  not  doubt  the 
story  of  his  young  assistant.  Sam  came  very 
near  getting  off  scot-free. 


222 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


“ But  for  your  carelessness  this  money  would 
not  have  been  lost,”  said  his  employer.  “ You 
ought  to  make  up  the  loss  to  me.” 

“ I haven’t  got  any  money,”  said  Sam. 

A sudden  thought  came  to  Dr.  Graham. 
“ Empty  your  pockets,”  he  said. 

“How  lucky  I put  the  bills  in  my  stocking,” 
thought  Sam. 

He  turned  out  his  pockets,  disclosing  fifty 
cents.  It  was  Friday,  and  to-morrow  his  weekly 
wages  would  come  due. 

“ That’s  all  I’ve  got,”  he  said. 

“ Twenty  dollars  is  five  weeks’  salary,”  said 
Dr.  Graham.  “ You  ought  to  work  for  me  five 
weeks  without  pay.” 

“ I’d  starve  to  death,”  said  Sam,  in  alarm. 
“ I wouldn’t  be  able  to  buy  anything  to  eat.” 

“ I can  keep  back  part  of  your  salary,  then,” 
said  his  employer.  “ It  is  only  proper  that  you 
should  suffer  for  your  negligence.” 

At  this  moment  a friend  of  the  doctor’s  entered 
the  office. 

“ What  is  the  matter  ? ” he  asked. 

Dr.  Graham  explained  briefly. 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW  223 

“ Perhaps,”  said  the  visitor,  “ I can  throw 
some  light  upon  your  loss.” 

“You!  How?” 

“ I happened  to  be  coming  over  from  Brooklyn 
an  hour  since  on  the  same  boat  with  that  young 
man  there,”  he  said  quietly. 

Sam  turned  pale.  There  was  something  in  the 
speaker’s  tone  that  frightened  him. 


CHAPTER  XXV 


BROUGHT  TO  JUSTICE 

Sam  would  have  been  glad  to  leave  the  office 
but  he  knew  that  to  ask  would  be  to  subject  him 
to  increased  suspicion.  Besides,  the  strangei 
might  not  be  intending  to  accuse  him. 

Dr.  Graham’s  attention  was  excited,  and  he 
asked:  “Do  you  know  anything  of  this  matter. 
Mr.  Clement  ? ” 

“ Yes,  doctor.  As  I said,  I was  on  board  the 
Brooklyn  ferry  with  this  young  man  and  a friend 
of  his,  whom  I believe  he  addressed  as  Jim.  I 
heard  them  talk,  being  in  the  next  seat,  about 
money,  and  something  was  said  about  conceal- 
ment. My  curiosity  was  aroused,  and  I made  up 
my  mind  to  follow  them  after  they  left  the  boat.” 

“ He  knows  all  about  it,”  thought  Sam.  “ I 
wish  I hadn’t  come  back.” 

“ Go  on,”  said  Dr.  Graham,  eying  Sam  sternly 

as  he  spoke.  “ You  followed  the  boys  ? ” 

224 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


225 


“ Yes.  They  made  their  way  to  the  end  of  a 
pier,  where  this  young  man  of  yours  slipped  off 
his  stockings,  and,  as  well  as  I could  tell,  for  I 
was  watching  at  a distance,  concealed  some  bills 
in  them,  and  afterward  drew  them  on  again.  It 
struck  me  at  once  that  if  the  money  had  been 
honestly  come  by,  they  wouldn’t  have  been  so 
anxious  to  secrete  it.” 

“ Sam,”  said  the  doctor  sternly,  “ what  have 
you  to  say  to  this  charge  ? ” 

“ It  was  my  money,”  stammered  Sam. 

“ What  did  you  put  it  in  your  stockings  for?  ” 
“Jim  told  my  how  dangerous  it  was  to  carry 
it  round  in  my  pocket  loose.  So,  as  I hadn’t 
any  pocketbook,  I put  it  in  my  stockings.” 

“ Very  probable,  indeed.  Suppose  you  take 
off  your  stockings.” 

Sam  had  decided  objections  to  this;  but  he  saw 
that  it  would  be  of  no  use  to  urge  them,  and 
slowly  and  reluctantly  complied. 

“ Now  put  in  your  hand,  and  take  out  the 
money.” 

Sam  did  so. 

The  doctor  counted  the  bills. 


226 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


“ Here  are  only  nine  dollars,”  he  said.  “ Take 
out  the  rest.” 

“ There  isn’t  any  more,”  said  Sam. 

“ Don’t  attempt  to  deceive  me,”  said  his  em- 
ployer sternly. 

“ There  isn’t  any  more,”  persisted  Sam  earn- 
estly. “ If  you  don’t  believe  it,  you  may  look 
yourself.” 

Dr.  Graham  did  so,  and  found  the  statement 
correct. 

“ There  were  twenty  dollars  in  the  letter,”  he 
said  sternly.  “ What  has  become  of  the  other 
eleven?  ” 

There  was  no  use  in  persisting  in  denial  fur- 
ther, and  Sam  made  a virtue  of  necessity. 

“ Jim  got  half  the  money,”  he  confessed. 

“Who’s  Jim?” 

“ Jim  Nolan.” 

“ How  came  he  to  get  half  the  money  ? Did 
you  owe  it  to  him  ? ” 

For  the  first  time  it  struck  Sam  that  he  had 
been  a fool  to  give  away  ten  dollars  without  ade- 
quate return.  All  that  Jim  had  given  was  bad 
advice,  which  is  never  worth  taking. 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


227 


“ I don’t  know  how  I came  to  give  it  to  him,” 
said  Sam.  “ It  was  he  who  wanted  me  to  take 
the  money.  I wouldn’t  have  done  it  but  for 
Jim.” 

“ It  strikes  me,”  said  Mr.  Clement,  “ that  Jim 
is  not  a very  desirable  companion.  So  you  gave 
him  ten  dollars  ? ” 

“ Yes,  sir.” 

“Did  you  spend  any  of  the  money?”  asked 
Dr.  Graham. 

“ Yes,  sir.” 

“ In  what  way?  ” 

“ I went  in  with  Jim  and  played  a game  of 
billiards.” 

“ Paying  for  the  game  with  my  money?  ” 

“ Yes,  sir.” 

“ What  else  ? ” 

“ Jim  took  me  into  a drinking-place,  and 
treated  me  to  a whisky  punch.” 

“ Also  with  my  money,  I suppose.” 

“ Yes  sir;  he  wanted  to  get  the  ten-dollar  bill 
changed.” 

“ Was  this  in  Brooklyn  or  New  York?” 

“ In  Brooklyn.” 


228 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


“ Upon  my  word,  very  well  planned.  So  you 
expected  me  to  believe  your  story  about  having 
your  pocket  picked.  Did  you  ? ” 

“ Yes,  sir.” 

“ A pretty  story,  Mr.  Clement,”  said  the  doc- 
tor, turning  to  his  friend.  “ What  would  you 
advise  me  to  do — have  the  boy  arrested  ? ” 

“ Oh,  don’t,”  implored  Sam,  turning  pale; 
“ I’ll  never  do  it  again.” 

“ You  won’t  have  the  chance,”  said  the  doctor 
dryly. 

“ If  you  ask  my  advice,”  said  Mr.  Clement,  “ I 
will  give  it.  I suspect  this  Jim  is  the  worse  boy 
of  the  two.  Now  he’s  got  ten  dollars  of  your 
money.” 

“ Yes,  sir.” 

“ Do  you  mean  to  let  him  keep  it?  ” 

“ He’s  spent  part  of  it  by  this  time.” 

“ You  can  get  the  rest  back.” 

“ How  ? I don’t  know  the  boy.” 

“ You  know  his  name.  The  superintendent  of 
the  Newsboys’  Lodging  House  could  probably 
put  you  on  his  track.  Besides,  your  boy  here  can 
help  you.” 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


229 


“ I don’t  know  but  you  are  right.” 

“ Sam,”  said  Mr.  Clement,  “ are  you  willing  to 
help  Dr.  Graham  get  back  his  money?” 

“ I don’t  like  to  get  Jim  into  a scrape,”  said 

Sam. 

“ It  seems  he’s  got  you  into  a scrape.  It  is 
your  only  chance  of  escaping  being  sent  to 
Blackwell’s  Island.” 

“Will  Jim  be  sent  there?” 

“ That  depends  on  the  doctor.  If  this  Jim 
will  give  back  what  he  has  of  the  money  you  gave 
him,  and  agree  to  give  back  the  rest  as  soon  as 
he  earns  it,  I think  the  doctor  will  let  him  off.” 
“ Then  I’ll  do  what  I can,”  said  Sam. 

“ As  for  you,”  said  the  doctor,  “ I shall  retain 
these  nine  dollars;  also  the  four  I was  to  have 
paid  you  to-morrow.  If  I get  back  the  full 
amount  from  your  confederate,  I will  pay  you 
the  difference.  Now,  how  can  you  get  at  this 
Jim?” 

“ He’ll  be  somewhere  around  City  Hall 
Park,”  said  Sam. 

“ You  may  go  in  search  of  him.  Tell  him  to 
come  to  this  office  with  you.  If  he  don’t  come 


230 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


he  will  be  arrested,  and  I will  have  no  mercy  upon 
him.  If  you  undertake  to  play  me  false,  the  same 
fate  awaits  you.” 

“ Don’t  be  afraid,”  said  Sam.  “ I’ll  come 
back,  honor  bright ! ” 

“ Do  you  think  he  will  ? ” asked  Dr.  Graham, 
turning  to  Mr.  Clement. 

“ Yes,  for  he  knows  it  wouldn’t  be  safe  for  him 
*o  stay  away.” 

“ Go  away,  then,  and  come  back  as  soon  as 
possible.” 

Sam  made  all  haste  to  the  City  Hall  Park, 
where  he  expected  to  find  Jim.  He  was  not  disap- 
pointed. Jim  was  sitting  on  one  of  the  steps  of 
the  City  Hall  smoking  a cigar.  He  had  the  air 
of  a gentleman  of  leisure  and  independent  in- 
come, with  no  cares  to  disturb  or  harass  him. 

He  did  not  see  Sam  till  the  latter  called  him 
by  name. 

“ Where’d  vou  come  from,  Sam  ? ” he  asked 
placidly. 

“ From  the  office.” 

“ Did  the  boss  make  a row  about  the  money?  ” 

“ You  bet  he  did ! ” 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


231 


**  He  didn’t  find  out,  did  he  ? ” 

“ Yes,  he  did.” 

Jim  looked  up  now. 

“ He  don’t  know  anything  about  me,  does 
he?”  he  inquired. 

“ I had  to  tell  him.” 

“ That’s  mean ! ” exclaimed  Jim.  “ You’d 
ought  to  be  ashamed  to  tell  on  a friend.” 

“ I had  to.  There  was  a chap — a friend  of  the 
doctor’s — that  was  on  the  boat,  and  heard  us 
talkin’  about  the  money.  He  followed  us,  and 
saw  me  stuff  the  money  in  my  stockin’.” 

Jim  indulged  in  a profane  ejaculation. 

“ What’s  he  goin’  to  do  about  it  ? ” he 
asked. 

“ He’s  made  me  give  up  the  money,  and  he’s 
sent  me  for  you.” 

“ I won’t  go ! ” said  Jim  hastily. 

“ You’d  better.  If  you  don’t,  you’ll  get  took 

up.” 

“What  am  I to  go  to  the  office  for?”  asked 
Jim,  rather  startled. 

“To  give  up  the  money.” 

“ I’ve  spent  two  dollars.” 


232 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


“If  you  give  up  what’s  left,  and  agree  to  pay 
the  rest,  he’ll  let  you  off.” 

“ Did  he  say  so  ? ” 

“ Yes,  he  told  me  so.” 

If  there  had  been  any  hope  of  escaping  with 
the  money,  Jim  would  have  declined  calling  on 
Dr.  Graham;  but  of  that  he  knew  there  was  little 
chance.  Indeed,  he  was  not  altogether  unknown 
to  the  police,  having,  on  two  or  three  previous  oc- 
casions, come  under  their  notice.  So,  consider- 
ably less  cheerful  than  before,  he  accompanied 
Sam  to  the  office. 

“ Is  this  the  boy  ? ” asked  the  doctor,  surveying 
Sam’s  companion  attentively. 

“ Yes,  sir.” 

“ I am  glad  to  see  you,  young  man,”  said  the 
doctor  dryly.  “ Suppose  we  settle  money  mat- 
ters first  of  all.  How  much  have  you  left?” 

Jim  drew  out  eight  dollars  in  bills. 

“ So  far  so  good.  You  owe  me  two  dol- 
lars.” 

“ Yes,  sir.” 

“ I won’t  ask  for  your  note  of  hand.  I’m 
afraid  I couldn’t  negotiate  it;  but  I expect  you 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


233 

to  pay  me  back  the  balance  by  installments.  If 
not,  I shall  know  where  to  lay  hold  of  you.” 

Jim  had  nothing  to  say. 

“ Now  you  can  go.  Sam,  you  can  stay.” 

“ I suppose  he’s  goin’  to  send  me  off,”  thought 
Sam. 

“ You  may  stay  till  to-morrow  night,  Sam,” 
said  the  doctor,  “ and  I will  pay  you  what  balance 
I owe  you.  After  that,  I think  we  had  better 
part  company.  You  are  a little  too  enterprising 
for  me.” 

Sam  made  no  objection.  In  fact,  he  had  got 
tired  of  the  confinement,  and  thought  it  would 
be  an  agreeable  variety  to  return  to  his  old  life 
again.  The  next  evening,  therefore,  he  retired 
from  professional  life,  and,  with  a balance 
of  fifty  cents  in  his  possession,  set  up  once  more 
as  a street  vagabond.  When  Jim  Nolan  paid  up 
his  indebtedness,  he  would  be  entitled  to  two  dol- 
lars more.  Until  then  he  was  held  for  the  debt 
of  his  confederate. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 
pipkin's  dining  rooms 

Sunday  is  a dull  day  with  the  street-boys, 
whatever  their  business  may  be.  The  bootblacks 
lose  least,  but  if  the  day  be  unpropitious  their 
earnings  are  small.  On  such  a day  the  News- 
boys’ Lodge  is  a great  resource.  It  supplies  all 
that  a boy  actually  needs — lodging  and  two  meals 
— for  the  small  sum  of  eighteen  cents,  and  in 
cases  of  need  will  trust  boys  to  that  amount. 

Sam  naturally  had  recourse  to  this  hold  on 
finding  himself  out  of  a situation.  He  had 
enough  to  pay  his  expenses,  and  did  not  feel  com- 
pelled to  go  to  work  till  Monday.  Monday  morn- 
ing, however,  the  reduced  state  of  his  finances 
compelled  him  to  look  for  employment.  If  he  had 
had  a little  capital  he  might  have  set  up  as  a news- 
boy or  bootblack,  but  five  cents  can  hardly  be  con- 
sidered sufficient  capital  for  either  of  these  lines 
of  business.  Credit  is  the  next  best  thing  to 
234 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


235 


capital,  but  Sam  had  no  credit.  He  found  that 
out,  after  an  ineffectual  attempt  to  borrow  money 
of  a bootblack,  who,  having  ten  dollars  in  a sav- 
ings-bank, was  regarded  in  his  own  class  with 
high  respect  as  a wealthy  capitalist.  The  name 
of  this  exceptional  young  man  was  William 
Clark,  better  known  among  the  boys  as  Readv- 
money  Bill. 

When  twelve  o’clock  came,  and  Sam  had 
earned  nothing,  he  bethought  himself  of  Bill,  the 
capitalist. 

“ Bill,”  he  said,  “ I want  to  borrer  a dollar.” 

“ You  do,  eh ! ” said  Bill  sharply.  “ What 
for?” 

“ To  set  me  up  in  business.” 

“ What  business  ? ” 

“ Evenin’  papers.” 

“ Haven’t  you  got  no  stamps?” 

“ No.” 

“ What  have  you  been  doin’  ? ” 

“ I’ve  been  in  an  office.” 

“Why  didn’t  you  stay?” 

“ The  boss  thought  he  wouldn’t  need  me  no 
longer.” 


2.36 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


“ I see,”  said  Bill  nodding.  “ You  got 
sacked.” 

“ Not  exactly.” 

“ Same  thing.” 

“ Will  you  lend  me  the  money?  ” 

“ I’d  never  get  it  back  ag’in.” 

“ Yes,  you  would.” 

“ I dunno  about  that.  Where’d  you  get 

money  to  pay  me  back  ? ” 

“ The  boss  owes  me  two  dollars.” 

“ Why  don’t  he  pay  you  ? ” 

“ One  of  my  friends  cheated  him  out  of  it,  and 
he  won’t  pay  me  till  it’s  paid  back.” 

“ Maybe  he  won’t  pay  it  back.” 

“ Yes,  he  will.  Will  you  lend  me  the 
money?  ” 

“ No,  I won’t.  You’d  ought  to  have  saved 

money  like  I have.” 

“ I’d  have  had  two  dollars,  if  Jim  hadn’t  stolen 
the  money.”  - 

“ That  ain’t  my  fault.  I ain’t  goin’  to  lose  my 
money  for  you.  You  can  save  like  I do.” 

Bill  was  right,  no  doubt.  He  was  a bee,  and 
Sam  was  a drone,  and  the  drones  are  always 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW  237 

ready  to  avail  themselves  of  the  accumulations  of 
their  more  industrious  brothers. 

Sam  began  to  feel  hungry.  However  irregu- 
lar he  might  be  in  other  ways,  his  appetite  was 
surprisingly  regular.  He  paused  in  front  of  a 
restaurant,  and  looked  wistfully  in  at  the  win- 
dows. 

“ I wish  I was  a waiter,”  he  thought.  “ They 
have  all  they  want  to  eat  every  day.” 

It  will  be  seen  that  Sam’s  ambition  was  not  a 
lofty  one.  But  then  he  was  practical  enough  to 
see  that  three  square  meals  a day  are  more  to  be 
desired  than  empty  fame. 

As  he  was  standing  at  the  window  a man  from 
within  came  to  the  door.  Being  without  a hat, 
Sam  supposed  him  to  be  connected  with  the 
restaurant,  as,  indeed  he  was.  Sam  drew  back, 
supposing  that  he  was  to  be  sent  off.  But  here 
he  was  mistaken. 

“ Come  here,  Johnny,”  said  the  proprietor,  for 
it  was  the  owner  of  the  restaurant  who  addressed, 
our  hero. 

Sam  approached,  wondering. 

“Have  you  had  dinner?” 


238 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


“ No,”  said  Sam  promptly. 

“Would  you  like  some?” 

Sam’s  answer  in  the  affirmative,  was  equally 
prompt. 

“ But  you  haven’t  any  money,  hey?  ” 

“ That’s  so,”  said  Sam.  “ Wonder  how  he 
found  out?  ” he  thought. 

“ We  don’t  give  away  dinners,  but  you  can 
earn  one,”  said  Mr.  Pipkin,  for  it  was  Pipkin’s 
Restaurant. 

“ Do  you  want  me  for  a waiter  ?”  asked  Sam 
hopefully. 

“ No  ; you  wouldn’t  do.  You  haven’t  had  ex- 
perience. I want  a boy  to  distribute  handbills  in 
front  of  the  saloon.  Can  you  do  that?  ” 

“Yes,  I can,”  said  Sam  eagerly.  “I’ve  done 
that  before.” 

“ All  right.  Come  in.” 

Sam  entered.  He  hoped  that  a preliminary  din- 
ner would  be  offered  him,  but  Mr.  Pipkin  was  not 
in  the  habit  of  paying  in  advance,  and,  perhaps, 
he  was  right.  He  brought  forward  a pile  of 
circulars,  about  the  same  size  as  Dr.  Graham’s, 
and  handed  them  to  Sam. 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


239 


“ I’ve  just  opened  a new  saloon,”  he  said, 
and  I want  to  invite  the  patronage  of  the  public. 
Stand  here,  and  distribute  them  to  the  passersby.” 

“ All  right,”  said  Sam.  “ When  will  you  give 
me  some  dinner  ? ” 

“ In  about  an  hour.  This  is  the  time  when 
people  generally  dine,  and  I want  to  catch  as 
many  as  I can.” 

Sam  read  one  of  the  circulars  rapidly. 

This  is  the  way  it  read : 

“ PIPKIN’S  DINING-ROOMS. 
Unsurpassed  for  the  Excellence  of  Cookery,  and 
the  Cheapness  of  Prices. 

Call  once,  and  you  will  be  sure  to  come  again.” 

“ I’m  goin’  to  come  once,  and  I’ll  call  again  if 
they’ll  let  me,”  said  Sam  to  himself. 

In  about  an  hour  he  was  called  in.  The  cus- 
tomers had  thinned  out,  but  there  were  a few  at 
the  tables.  Sam  was  directed  to  sit  down  at  a 
table  in  the  back  part  of  the  room. 

“ Now,  then,”  said  the  waiter,  “ hurry  up, 
young  ’un,  and  tell  us  what  you  want.” 


240 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


“ Roast  turkey  and  cranberry  sauce,”  ordered 
Sam. 

“All  out.  Try  again,”  was  the  laconic  reply. 

“ Roast  chicken.” 

“ That’s  all  out,  too.” 

Sam  looked  disappointed. 

“ Oyster  stew.” 

“ All  out.” 

“ Is  everything  out  ? ” 

“ No  ; there’s  some  roast  veal,  unless  you  pre- 
fer hash.” 

“ I don’t  like  hash,”  said  Sam  decidedly. 
“ Bring  on  your  veal,  and  don’t  forget  the  pota- 
toes, and  some  bread  and  butter.” 

“ You’ve  got  a healthy  appetite,”  said  the 
waiter. 

“ You  bet  I have,  and  I’ve  a right  to  it.  I’ve 
earned  my  dinner,  and  I want  it.” 

The  articles  he  had  ordered  were  brought,  and 
he  attacked  them  with  vigor.  Then  he  called  for 
a second  course. 

“ A piece  of  mince  pie.” 

“ All  out,”  said  the  waiter. 

“ Apple  pie.” 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


241 


“That’s  out.” 

“ I guess  your  customers  all  had  healthy  appe- 
tites to-day,”  said  Sam.  “ Bring  on  something 
or  other,  and  mind  you  bring  enough  of  it.” 

A plate  of  rice  pudding  was  set  before  him, 
and  speedily  appropriated.  He  tried  to  get  a sec- 
ond plate,  but  his  application  was  unsuccessful. 
He  was  given  to  understand  that  he  was  entitled 
to  only  one  plate,  and  was  forced  to  rise  from  the 
table  not  wholly  satisfied. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 


CONCLUSION 

Sam  did  not  retain  his  new  position  long.  A 
week  later  he  was  dismissed.  Though  no  reason 
was  assigned,  the  proprietor  probably  thought  it 
better  to  engage  a boy  with  a smaller  appetite. 
But  Sam  was  by  no  means  discouraged.  He  was 
more  self-reliant  than  when  nearly  a year  before 
he  entered  the  city,  and  more  confident  of  rub- 
bing along  somehow.  If  he  could  not  sell  papers, 
he  could  black  boots.  If  wholly  without  capital, 
he  could  haunt  the  neighborhood  of  the  piers, 
and  seek  employment  as  a baggage-smasher. 

For  the  next  two  years  it  will  be  unnecessary 
to  detail  Sam’s  experiences.  They  did  not  differ 
materially  from  those  of  other  street  boys — now  a 
day  of  plenty,  now  of  want,  now  a stroke  of  luck, 
which  made  him  feel  rich  as  a millionaire,  now 
a season  of  bad  fortune.  Day  by  day,  and  week 
by  week,  his  recollections  of  his  country  home 
242 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


243 


became  more  vague,  and  he  could  hardly  realize 
that  he  had  ever  lived  anywhere  else  than  in  the 
streets  of  New  York.  It  was  at  this  time  that 
the  unexpected  encounter  with  Deacon  Hopkins 
brought  back  the  memories  of  his  early  life,  and 
led  him  to  contrast  them  curiously  with  his  pres- 
ent experiences.  There  did  not  seem  much  for 
Sam  to  be  proud  of,  ragged  vagabond  as  he  was; 
but  for  all  that  he  looked  down  upon  his  former 
self  with  ineffable  contempt. 

“ What  a greenhorn  I was  when  I first  came  to' 
the  city ! ” he  reflected.  “ How  easy  I was  took 
in!  I didn’t  know  nothin’ about  life  then.  How 
sick  I was  when  I smoked  my  first  cigar!  Now, 
I can  smoke  half  a dozen,  one  after  the  other, 
only  I can’t  raise  the  stamps  to  buy  ’em.  How 
I fooled  the  deacon,  though ! ” and  Sam  laughed 
in  hearty  enjoyment  of  the  joke.  “ I wonder 
what’ll  he  say  of  me  when  he  gets  back.” 

Sam  plunged  his  hands  deep  down  into  his 
pockets.  There  was  nothing  to  hinder,  for,  as 
usual,  they  were  empty.  He  had  spent  the  small 
amount  obtained  from  the  deacon,  and  he  was 
just  even  with  the  world.  He  had  neither  debts 


244 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 


nor  assets.  He  had  only  daily  recurring  wants, 
and  these  he  was  not  always  able  to  supply. 

It  was  in  the  afternoon  of  the  day  made  mem- 
orable  by  his  interview  with  the  deacon  that  an- 
other adventure  befell  Sam.  As  it  exhibits  him 
in  a more  favorable  light  than  usual,  I am  glad  to 
chronicle  it. 

He  was  lounging  about,  waiting  for  something 
to  turn  up,  when  he  felt  a little  hand  slip  into  his, 
and  heard  a small  voice  pleading:  “Take  me 
home.  I’m  lost.” 

Sam  looked  down  in  surprise  to  find  his  hand 
clasped  by  a little  boy,  apparently  about  four 
years  of  age.  What  attracted  him  to  Sam  is  un- 
certain. Possibly  his  face  seemed  familiar  to  the 
little  boy. 

“ What’s  your  name,  Johnny?  ” asked  Sam 
gently. 

“ My  name  ain’t  Johnny;  it’s  Bertie,”  said  the 
little  boy. 

“ What’s  your  other  name  ? ” 

“ Dalton.” 

“ Bertie  Dalton  ? ” 


“ Yes.  I want  to  go  home.” 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW  245 

“ So  you  shall,”  said  Sam  good-naturedly,  “ if 
you’ll  tell  me  where  you  live.” 

“ Don’t  you  know  ? ” asked  Bertie. 

“ No.” 

“ I thought  you  did,”  said  Bertie,  disappointed. 

I want  to  go  home  to  mamma.” 

Sam  was  puzzled. 

“ How  did  you  come  to  be  lost  ? ” he  asked. 

“ I went  over  with  Marie — that’s  the  nurse — 
and  when  she  Was  talking  with  another  nurse  I 
went  to  play.  Then  I couldn’t  find  her,  and  I’m 
so  frightened.” 

“ Don’t  be  frightened,  Bertie,”  said  Sam 
gently;  for  Lis  heart  was  drawn  to  the  little 
fellow.  “ I guess  I’ll  find  your  home.  Let  me 
guess.  Do  you  live  in  Twentieth  Street?” 

Bertie  shook  his  head. 

“Where  were  you  playing?” 

“ In  the  park.” 

“ It  must  be  Union  Park,”  thought  Sam. 

An  idea  struck  him.  He  went  into  a neighbor- 
ing druggist’s,  and,  asking  for  a directory,  turned 
to  the  list  of  Daltons.  There  was  only  one  living 
near  Union  Park;  this  one  lived  on  Fourteenth 


246  THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 

Street,  between  Sixth  and  Seventh  Avenues. 
Sam  decided  to  take  the  child  into  this  street, 
and  see  if  he  recognized  it.  The  experiment 
proved  successful.  Arrived  in  the  street  the 
child  cried  joyfully : 

“ This  is  where  I live.” 

“ Can  you  find  the  house?  ” 

“Yes;  it’s  right  on,”  said  Bertie. 

In  brief,  Sam  took  Bertie  home.  He  found 
the  family  in  great  distress.  The  nurse  had  re- 
turned, and  declared  incoherently  that  Master 
Bertie  had  been  carried  off,  and  she  couldn’t  find 
him  anywhere.  A message  was  about  to  be  sent 
to  the  police  when  the  young  truant  was  brought 
home.  The  mother  clasped  him  fondly  in  her 
arms,  and  kissed  him  many  times.  Then  she  be- 
thought herself  of  Sam. 

“ How  can  I thank  you,”  she  said  gratefully, 
“ for  bringing  my  darling  home?  ” 

“ Oh,  it’s  nothing,”  said  Sam.  “ I was  afraid 
at  first  I couldn’t  find  where  he  lived ; but  he  told 
me  what  his  name  was,  and  I looked  in  the  direc- 
tory.” 

Mrs.  Dalton  saw  that  Sam  was  ragged,  and 


THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW  247 

her  grateful  heart  prompted  her  to  do  something 
for  him. 

“ Have  you  any  place  ? ” she  asked. 

“ No,”  said  Sam. 

“Wouldn’t  you  like  one?” 

“ Yes,  I should,”  said  Sam  promptly.  “ It’s 
hard  work  getting  a living  about  the  streets.” 

“ It  must  be,”  said  the  lady,  with  sympathy. 
“ Have  you  no  friends  ? ” 

“ None,  except  poor  boys  like  I am.” 

“You  have  been  kind  to  my  dear  Bertie,  and 
I want  to  do  something  to  show  my  gratitude. 
Without  you,  I shudder  to  think  what  might  have 
become  of  him.” 

“ Nobody’d  hurt  a little  chap  like  him,”  said 

Sam. 

“ They  might  steal  him,”  said  Mrs.  Dalton. 
“ Have  you  had  any  dinner  ? ” 

“ No,  ma’am.” 

“ Come  into  the  house.  Maggie,  see  that  this 
boy  has  a good  meal.  Take  care  of  him  till  Mr. 
Dalton  comes  home.  Then  I will  see  what  can 
be  done  for  him.” 


“ All  right,  mum.” 


248  THE  YOUNG  OUTLAW 

Sam  had  no  objections  to  this  arrangement. 
He  was  never  at  a loss  for  an  appetite,  and  the 
prospect  was  an  attractive  one.  He  made  him- 
self at  home  in  the  kitchen,  where  his  rescue  of 
little  Bertie  and  the  evident  favor  of  Mrs’.  Dalton  - 
made  him  the  recipient  of  much  attention.  He 
felt  that  he  was  in  luck  for  once  in  his  life,  and 
was  convinced  of  it  when,  on  the  arrival  of  Mr. 
Dalton,  he  was  offered  the  post  of  errand  boy  at 
five  dollars  a week,  with  a present  of  five  dollars 
in  advance.  He  asked  no  time  for  consideration, 
but  accepted  at  once. 

“ You  may  report  for  service  to-morrow  morn- 
ing,” said  Mr.  Dalton.  “ There  is  my  business 
card.  Can  you  find  it  ? ” 

“ I know  where  it  is,”  said  Sam.  “ I’ll  be 
there.” 

Sam’s  chance  had  come.  He  was  invited  to 
fill  an  humble  but  respectable  position  in  .-life. 


THE  END 


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Indians W.  II.  G.  Kingston 

2.  Afloat  in  the  Forest Reid 

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